


Heartstrings

by yokomya



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Abuse, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - High School, Bipolar Disorder, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Homophobia, M/M, Original Character(s), Pining, Slow Burn, Underage Drinking, Underage Prostitution, Underage Substance Use, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-22
Updated: 2015-07-01
Packaged: 2018-03-25 07:45:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 42
Words: 144,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3802408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yokomya/pseuds/yokomya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You know why, Ian?”</p><p>Ian was so still, plastered against the tree, that he couldn’t even produce a sound from his throat to respond.</p><p>“Your hands aren’t meant for breaking things,” Mickey said lowly and then his body heat vanished and Mickey was standing up, tucking his book under his arm and tossing his cigarette to the grass. He plucked the guitar from Ian and clasped it in the case, slinging it over his back. When Mickey walked off, Ian just stared numbly into the grass, his heart thumping so hard against his chest that he thought it would collapse any second.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Mass of H2O

“If I shoot it, can we leave?”

Mandy whirled around in her chair and glared at her brother. This was the third time he ‘whispered’ his thoughts out loud.

“No, now shut the fuck up, Mick. First day back and you’re already complaining.”

Her whispers weren’t very quiet either so she earned some apprehensive looks from classmates who didn’t know why they were so unlucky to get both Milkovich’s in their class. The clock ticked on and on, it was worse with every second and Mickey was on the verge of tossing his desk into the kid by Mandy who wouldn’t stop goggling her breasts. She didn’t seem to mind and unzipped her jacket, giving him a little knowing smile.

“Why the fuck do I have to sit here? I’m _done_ with my fucking test.”

“Shut the fuck up, Mickey! I swear to God-”

Before she could finish, the teacher was looking up through horned glasses and waited for further voices but Mickey slumped back in his seat. It’s not like he was afraid of these snot nosed brats or the teachers who had rulers shoved so far up their ass, they walked like robots. He couldn’t afford to get kicked out of school again, not if he wanted to keep the beauty resting against his knee.

The guitar was in its case, slightly poking out into the aisle and every so often Mickey would fondle with the strap or the handle, anything to keep his mind off that goddamn clock. Sure school didn’t do much for his music career, certainly didn’t do anything for his brain, but his father promised broken hands so bad he couldn’t play guitar anymore if he flunked out again.

When the bell rang, Mickey was out and Mandy followed after tossing the paper onto the teacher’s desk. The hallways were filling fast and Mickey had to take in a deep breath so he didn’t blow up and shove every kid out of his way. That might get him suspended for some rucking reason.

“Wait the hell up, asshole. Where’s your next class?”

“I gotta smoke,” Mickey shouted, without turning around. Mandy was lost somewhere behind him when he kicked the green exit door to clear his way, not flinching when it hit some kid in the knee.

“Fuck, Mickey, go to class! Dad will flip!”

“Have a beautiful day, my fucking wonderful sister.”

He made way across the courtyard and walked until he was at the back of the Gym where not a soul was in site. As the sounds of people flooding grew fainter, he took out a shiny lighter. Sparks flew when he struck it with his thumb, the flame dancing and he couldn’t waste another second putting it against the cigarette.

Holy fuck this was fantastic. After a day of taking lame exams that he could do in his sleep, he finally got a bit of fresh air, well fresh smoke.

Mickey tapped the end, the ash falling to the grass by his boots, and he shut his eyes. He was somehow a Senior, even though technically he flunked his first two years, his dad pulled some strings, and they let him skip Junior year due to high testing. That still meant a year left in this prison, waste of time, shithole. How could he possibly stay sane if he couldn’t even smoke in class?

He loathed this place, only a tad less than he hated his own father, but his love for music was beyond that. Taking a spot on the grass, Mickey threw the black case against his leg and opened the baby up. There she was, dark wood, thick steel strings, and she was all Mickey’s.

Having nothing but money to blow on the kids he abused, his dad got it for Mickey, telling him that he wouldn’t be the dad of a dropout so if he finished school, Mickey could play in the house and he wouldn’t choke him.

He whipped the guitar out and strummed his fingers across the strings, humming slightly at the sweet sound. What the hell else was there to live for but this?

All the stress in his body seemed to melt away through the music he played out and as the late bell rang, he didn't even notice it. His eyes shut and he continued to play leisurely. Time passed at a slow rate and Mickey forgot all about going to class.

 

“Ian!” Mandy called out, her hands waving in the air like a maniac down the hallway. When he spotted her, they both grinned and hugged. Mandy snuck in a quick kiss to his cheek and slung her bookbag further up her shoulder.

“I’m shocked you’re alone. No hot guy on your arm first day back?” she asked, raising a brow and Ian just shook his head with a chuckle.

“No hot guy, Mandy. You know, we just saw each other last night. Already forgot about our pizza date?”

“Yeah,” she agreed and they began their walk to the exit, “but I missed you.”

“Oh yeah? How come I didn’t see you this morning? You were supposed to wait for me at the locker.”

He wasn’t angry in the slightest but he mustered up his best pout and she hit him with a book, smiling.

“I was with my idiot brother. He didn’t know where shit was so I had to show him the ropes.”

“Brother? You mean, Mickey?” Ian asked.

“Obviously. All the other ones are in jail or dead somewhere, who the hell knows. The point,” she emphasized and put a finger out, “is that I’m not letting his ass drag me down for my Senior year. He better not raise hell and make dad hate us even more.”

Ian was quiet. He had been friends with Mandy for a couple years now but she rarely talked about her family. All he knew was that she had hell of a lot of money and that he wasn’t allowed to come over so they spent most nights at his own place.

“Shouldn’t he be graduated by now?”

“He flunked Freshman year twice and skipped his third year or some shit. Dad ‘s only making him go to school for his last year so he has no right to be angry. He didn’t have to work his ass off for three years to get here.”

“Isn’t he like a year older than you?”

“Yeah, he took a year off school but dad finally made him go back after all the shit he put the family name through. Honestly, I can’t stand either of them.”

Ian said nothing until they were close to the city bus stop.

“Shouldn’t you walk home with him or something, Mandy?”

“I'm not playing nanny all year. He’s right there anyways,” she answered after checking some texts and pointing to the field behind the Gym. Ian turned his head and his fingers tightened on his bookbag strap.

Slicked back dark hair, dark as night, with the strands falling just below the ears and silvery blue eyes, like a wolf, that pierced right through you. He was dressed in a long black overcoat and combat boots, cigarette smoke fumes clouded out between his chapped lips, and a guitar was strapped to his back. Mickey Milkovich was hard to keep your eyes off of, even if you were a bit scared to look.

He could remember meeting him a couple times in the last few years but it was always while Ian was with Mandy. It would be just a coincidence on the street where Mickey and Mandy would get into a loud, sometimes playful argument, and because Mickey always had a posse with him it was hard to get close.

As Mickey approached, he threw his cigarette on the sidewalk, crushed it and gave Ian the up and down.

“This guy hitting on you or some shit?”

“It’s Ian, Mickey,” Mandy said, crossing her arms, but she looked amused. “My best friend. Didn’t you guys meet before?”

“Nope,” Mickey shrugged and his head spun around the lot like he was looking for someone.

“We did actually,” Ian tried slowly but Mickey didn’t give it much thought and threw his chin back, nodding at a guy in a beanie standing close by.

“Whatever. See ya,” Mickey said curtly and left with the kid, his dark coat sweeping behind him.

“Asshole,” Mandy muttered and looped her arm through Ian’s. “Don’t worry about it, Ian. All he cares about is drugs and his stupid guitar. Let’s go get a burger.”

As she dragged him along he couldn’t help but look back at Mickey’s fleeting figure.

 

“Ian, we’re out of milk,” Fiona sighed, rummaging through the fridge. “I really need to make those cupcakes for tomorrow. Shit! How did I forget milk?”

Ian looked up from his Chemistry homework that he was frantically trying to complete in the living room and stood up.

“Alright, I’ll go.”

“I’m sorry. I would go but I have to go change Liam.”

He knew that she had trouble leaving any of the kids home alone unless she absolutely had to go to work so he just reassured her with a smile and left out the front door, seeing her tossing pans and ingredients around behind him. He knew this job was important to her because she finally got a raise and Fiona was too prideful to just admit to her coworkers that she didn’t have the paycheck to bring food in for ‘Fun Friday’, the day of the week where everybody was expected to bring in food.

He brought his homework with him, trying to do the problems in his head on the way so he could go to be before three in the morning.

The street he lived on was full of abandoned looking houses but all of them were inhabited someway or another. His house was overflowing, even with Lip off at college now.

After failing to solve the third problem, he kicked a pebble and took a final corner to reach the small grocery across the road. It was late so the parking lot was empty except for one car, most likely belonging to the man working the counter. Ian felt nervous as he walked in, feeling the man’s eyes on him as he went to the fridge.

He took the icy milk out of the fridge and felt the rest of his body drain heat as he came back to the front. The man, Indian, middle aged, was smiling and closed the magazine in his hand to speak.

“Hey, Ian. Long time no see.”

“Hey, Kash,” Ian replied, his throat drying. He tapped the side of the milk carton nervously and slid a hand down the back of his neck.

“$4.60,” Kash rung out after scanning the milk. He looked at Ian and crossed his arms so he could lean further over.

“I don’t have money,” Ian said and they both knew that was coming as well as what he was going to suggest next. “Um, could I get two of them and we could. . ?”

Kash sat up straighter, lighting up like a Christmas Tree.

“Oh? Yeah, that’s alright,” he laughed lightly and it was a bit awkward as Ian raced to grab another carton, his eyes lowering.

When he had them both on the counter, Kash was done locking the door, turning the sign to ‘closed’, and dimming the lights. He followed Ian into the back closet, shutting it excitedly behind him.

 

Ian left the grocery, taking a pack of breath mints on his way out, and popped one of those suckers in. He felt sweaty and couldn’t wait to get a shower at the house.

The street lights were buzzing, going on and off like some horror flick. He whistled to ease the silence and practically fell back when a hooded figure popped out from around the block.

Heart racing, Ian was about to run until he saw familiar eyes looking at him from beneath the hood.

“Mickey?” he asked, a little unsure, because Mickey’s eyes were glazed and he had dry blood crusting under one of them.

“Who the fuck is asking?” Mickey retorted and Ian was suddenly afraid again. Mickey’s hands were in his pockets and he smelled of liquor and tobacco.

“Uh, I’m Mandy’s friend Ian.”

Mickey scrutinized him, took his hood off so he could get a better look, and nodded lazily.

“Oh yeah? You’re the guy who was hitting on my sister. The fuck you walking around this neighborhood for?”

“I live here,” Ian said, not bothering to correct the hitting on part, and paused, “What about you? You’re from the nice side, aren’t you?”

“Do I need goddamn permission to come over here?” Mickey scoffed, revealing a can of beer from his pocket that he cracked open. He put the can up against his wound for a second, hissed, and then chugged from it.

“You look like. . . “ Ian was about to hold his tongue but figured Mickey didn’t care about formalities and finished, “complete shit.”

“Yeah? You’re real fucking observant,” he sneered back, taking another gulp. He held the can out to Ian who didn’t know whether to be flattered or disgusted, so he played it safe and swiped a sip.

“What is this? Groceries? What the fuck,” Mickey said, eyeing the plastic bag in Ian’s other hand. “Who the fuck grocery shops right now?”

“Gotta do what you gotta do,” Ian said and pushed the can back into Mickey’s hand.

"The fuck is that? Your grocery list?"

"Homework," Ian explained, waving the paper around. "Heard of it?"

"A smart ass, huh," Mickey said but there was a playful smirk on his lips as he snatched the paper and scanned his eyes over it. He swigged at his beer and pressed the paper to Ian's chest, wiping the corner of his mouth where some of the alcohol was dripping. 

"You fucked on the first one. Forgot parenthesis on the second."

Ian watched him momentarily before he flipped the sheet over to check. He did forget the parenthesis. 

“Well, whatever. Don’t fuck my sister,” Mickey warned, it wasn’t very serious, and then turned back around the way he came. Ian jogged after him and retrieved the pencil from his bag. 

"Hold up, what about the third one?"

"Seriously?" Mickey asked, crushing his beer can and tossing it off onto someone's lawn. His hands were back in the pockets and he didn't even look at the paper as he answered, "Fucking use Avogadro's number, man."

"It wants the mass of water," Ian explained and Mickey turned his head.

"Are your ears screwed up? Get the mass of two Hydrogen atoms and one Oxygen, fucking Avogadro's number is one mole of water, and convert to grams. You got your masses right there," he pointed down at the colorful periodic table Ian had pasted to the front of his notebook. "Rainbow as fuck but it's there," Mickey added, eyes back on the road. 

"Okay," Ian said slowly, still not getting it. 

"Holy fuck."

In a flash Mickey was scribbling all over Ian's homework, the paper against Ian's chest. Ian tried to peak at what he was doing but it was too dark to see. 

"Carry that shit," Mickey murmured, etching more lines to the page, tickling Ian's abs. Ian watched Mickey work and it was strange, like really strange. He seemed lost in his own world, not quite buzzed but somehow a little out of it.

Mickey was weirdly attractive. His eyes were light yet smoky, bold, and honest. His hair looked soft to the touch and Ian was tempted to do just that while the guy worked but he decided he didn't want his hand bitten off. There was something dangerous about Mickey that told you if you didn't watch yourself, you were going to be sorry, so he just let his eyes linger on Mickey's face.

When he was done, Mickey swiped a thumb across his lower lip and Ian felt his stomach clench. He plopped the pencil back into Ian's hand and stepped back. 

"There's your grocery shopping," Mickey said as Ian read over the homework quickly. 

"You finished? Are you fucking kidding me?"

Mickey's eyes flew up to Ian's and the corner of his mouth twitched. "Yeah?"

"That's fucking incredible. Mickey, you're insane," Ian laughed, looking through the problems. After examining the work Mickey had messily wrote out, he could see the answers clearly. Of course, Mickey wrote the answers in the boxes too. 

Mickey was quiet through the rest of Ian's reading and he turned away, his hand flying to the back of his head. "What was your fucking name again?"

"Ian," he answered instantly while he tried to memorize the formula Mickey put to the side of the sheet. The work actually made sense to him, something clicked while looking at this work that didn't when he watched his teacher write on the board. He was ecstatic because he could use this to do the other homework he neglected this week. 

"Night, Ian."

When Ian looked up, Mickey was already walking off, his head low as he disappeared into the darkness beyond the streetlamp. 

 


	2. Tutor Me

Ian was in disbelief at the letter in front of him. He was up all night thinking about this test and seeing the ‘A’ sent him into shock. He touched the red ink for a second, wondering if the teacher was tired and graded wrong. The class was clearing out when someone shook him back to reality.

“Came to fetch you,” Mandy yawned at his side but when her eyes landed on the paper, they popped out.

“Get the fuck out!” 

“Yeah, tell me about it,” Ian said, still dazed. He got his book bag and walked out with her. The last bell rang and Ian was biting his lip to stop smiling.

“How did you score this shit? You finally cracked and cheated, huh?” Mandy smirked and slapped him in the head with the papers. He grabbed them and stuffed them into his bag.

“No, I studied. I did the homework for the week because I actually got it this time.”

“Ian,” she grinned, “I would totally have a boner if I was a dude right now.”

“Yeah,” he laughed and looked at her sheepishly. “I did have some help though.”

Mandy swung in front of him and put a hand on her hip. “So, there _is_ a hot guy? One with a brain too?”

“Uh,” Ian coughed and he stopped when said hot guy was waltzing up to them. Mickey had shifty eyes and his fingers were laced around the black belt keeping his guitar on his back.

“You look like hell. Bad first week?” Mandy asked, sounding sincere as Mickey glared.

“I’m not coming home tonight so don’t forget to feed the cat.”

It was bizarre hearing that sentence come from such a gruff voice and Ian’s lips were starting to curve into a smile. Mandy seemed less amused.

“Where the hell are you going? To one of your shitty friend’s - oh sorry, I mean grass buddy’s house?”

“None of your motherfucking business,” Mickey spat and finally spared Ian a glance. He said nothing and stalked off.

“Where the fuck you going, Mick?” Mandy shouted but Mickey didn’t answer.

“Does he usually just run off?” Ian wondered, not letting his eyes waver away from the back of Mickey’s head.

“He hates it at home so yeah. I think him and dad got in another fight.”

Mandy turned to Ian, bubbling suddenly. “Hey, I can’t come over today.”

“What? Need to feed the cat?’ Ian joked and she punched him lightly.

“Alex wants to come over and he might be getting lucky,” she said, wiggling her eyebrows.

“Alright, have fun with your boy toy.”

“Like you’re one to talk,” she smirked and then they parted ways.

Ian waited for her to disappear, feigning like he was waiting at the bus but really, his eyes kept pointing in the opposite direction. As soon as Mandy was gone, he ran off the other way. It didn’t take too long to catch up to Mickey who was moving at a brisk pace.

Ian walked quickly up to his side and tapped his shoulder causing Mickey to fly back, looking ready to throw punches.

“Chill,” Ian jumped before moving back.

“The fu-” Mickey started and looked around. “Can I fucking help you?”

There was an anxiousness to Mickey’s movements so Ian put his hands up in defense.

“I just wanted to say thanks for last week, that’s it.”

Mickey eyed him and turned fully, squinting.

“Did I sell you coke?”

“What? No, why would you-” Ian rubbed his eyes and smiled. “No, the Chemistry homework. You bailed me out.”

“What are you talking about?”

“When we ran into each other that night and you went all Einstein.”

Mickey pondered for a moment before it hit him.

“Oh right, groceries.”

Ian furrowed his brow but nodded, “Yeah, okay. Anyways, thanks a lot. I aced the test yesterday because of you.”

“You want a medal or something?”

Mickey was staring at Ian for just a second before he spun back around on the sidewalk. It caught Ian off guard at first but he quickly caught back up.

“Hey, I was just giving you a compliment.”

“You done?” Mickey asked, clearly more annoyed than flattered.

“What the hell? Why are you so pissed?”

“If you haven’t noticed, I’m trying to go somewhere and you're fucking slowing down the process.”

“Yeah? What’s so important you have to act like a douche bag?”

“Look,” Mickey sighed, stopping to size Ian up, not in the least bothered by the obvious height difference. “We’re about to have a problem if you don’t step off.”

“Yeah?” Ian snorted. “Seems like we already do.”

"You think because you're banging my sister we're friends or some shit? Fuck off."

Ian wondered why he didn't do just that yet. It wasn't like he was getting through to him.He thought about the pile of university applications strewn out on his bed at home and the gleam in Mickey's eyes the other night as he worked through Ian's homework, his fingers holding delicately onto the pencil and his other hand pressed to Ian's chest to keep the paper still. 

"I'm not having sex with Mandy and I never will. All I know is I aced my Chemistry test, the class I failed last year, and I don't want to do it again. Not to mention Physics, Calculus. . . I'm drowning right now in school. I just thought maybe you could show me some stuff since you seem pretty good at it."

When he finished, Mickey looked like a deer caught in headlights, like he wasn't sure if he should attack Ian or ignore him altogether.

"What do you think this is? 'Stand and Deliver'?"

"Come on," Ian tried, "What do I gotta do for your time?"

It came out more flirty than he meant but that was how it usually went. Guys were easy to persuade if he was offering himself up. Mickey glanced around and met eyes again.

"You offering cash?"

Ian froze. He sure as hell didn't have any of that. Wasn't Mickey loaded? What could he possibly use more money for?

"No," Ian replied shamelessly and bit down on his lip. "I was talking about you know. . ."

He trailed off and Mickey just stared, waiting for the grand unveil. Ian sighed, feeling stupid. Even straight guys took the bait but Mickey just wasn't getting it.

"Sex?" Ian blurted, his voice rising. The air seemed to thicken around them and that hostile fire in Mickey's eyes diminished on the spot, replaced with something else Ian couldn't figure out. Holding his breath, Ian waited for the reply but all Mickey did was blink a few times and walk off.

"Wait, Mickey!"

"Touch me and that hand is gone."

"Sorry, I wasn't trying to piss you off."

"The fuck is your problem?" Mickey glared, speeding up. "Why the fuck would you come up to me with this shit? You know what, don't answer that and get out of my face before I break your spine."

His hope for university was slipping away and Ian picked up his pace. Alright, that was a little exaggerated but he had some kind of belief that following Mickey was the right thing.

Shit, he had to think fast. It was so idiotic to even mention the sex thing, clearly Mickey wasn't into that but he didn't have anything left to offer. A light bulb went off and Ian ran to his side one last time.

"Hey, you said you weren't going home earlier. You need somewhere to crash?"

"Are you fucking kidding me?"

"Plus you don't have money on you, right?"

"The only thing I'm interested in is you shutting the fuck up because you don't know what the fuck you're talking about," Mickey said sharply and shifted the guitar on his back.

"You bummed around South Side last week, looking homeless. You really wanna sleep on the streets again?" Ian asked but the breath was knocked out of him as he was suddenly shoved against a chain fence, face to face with Mickey whose eyes were darkening.

"I know what that looks like," Ian breathed out, "having nowhere to go. South Side is full of it."

Mickey was silent and although physically Ian knew he could take Mickey, he didn't push him off.

"Hell, my dad is a pro at it."

"You don't know shit," Mickey warned. His breath was warm against Ian's face and it carried the scent of vanilla. Ian gulped.

"Enough to know you fight with your dad and that's why you're not going home tonight."

When his back was shoved further into the metal, he felt the fence start to bend under the force.

"Who the fuck are you to say that shit to me?"

"I'm sorry, I heard it from Mandy."

"She needs to keep her mouth shut," Mickey glowered.

"Where are you gonna go, huh?" Ian asked quietly. He didn't know what he was doing now. What got into him to offer his fucking house to Mandy's brother of all people? Was he this desperate to get a good grade? Mickey smirked then, his eyes threatening.

"I'm gonna beat the shit out of you until you learn to mind your business, Ian."

There was a twitch in Ian's fingers and his face softened in delight at the sound of his name rolling off Mickey's tongue, even if he was in a compromising position.

"You think I'm not used to threats from guys like you?" Ian said bravely but the vanilla was so distracting. "I thought it wouldn't hurt for us both to gain something."

Mickey stared Ian down and retracted back.

"What the fuck do you want? I have a feeling you're going to keep following me like a creepy ass stalker at this point."

Relieved, Ian brushed himself off and straightened up.

"Tutor me a bit and you can stay with me tonight."

There it was, that accidental slip of tone. Mickey seemed not to pick up on it, luckily.

"You think I don't have anywhere to go?"

"If you did would you still be standing here?" Ian retorted and Mickey's eyes fell. 

"Just for tonight. I have an exam next week so you can sleepover in a warm bed and I'll even cook you dinner. I really need to pass this year and based on what you were doing the other night, you're not just good at Chemistry."

Fuck, that came out like a pick up line. He really needed a new hobby besides selling himself to guys.

"Stop making it sound fucking weird," Mickey growled and Ian wasn't sure if that meant he caught on to the accidental innuendos.

"What? You don't want me to cook for you? If you want to starve, be my guest, we can barely fend for ourselves," he said lightly.

"Just lead the fucking way before I change my mind."

With that sentence, Ian smiled harder than he meant to. Mickey stuffed his hands into his pockets and averted his gaze.

"Let's fucking get this show on the road," he added impatiently and Ian hurried along, looking back to make sure Mickey was still behind him as they went.

They didn't speak on the way because Ian was nervous that Mickey would run off if he tried. Should he tell Mandy about this? What would she think? She was probably fucking right now and didn't want to be disturbed. Yeah, he wouldn't want to ruin her date.

Mickey seemed just as, if not more, nervous on the way to Ian's house. He kept shifting on his feet when they had to stop for traffic and once they finally got to Ian's, he didn't step inside until he got the okay.

"Fiona? Debs?" Ian called out after shutting the front door. There was no answer so he took a couple sodas from the fridge and lead Mickey upstairs.

Mickey carefully placed his guitar in the corner, pushing some stray clothing aside with his foot and peered around. It was then that Ian felt self conscious about not cleaning up more. Not only did he live in a run down neighborhood but his room was tight spaced, cluttered, and stuffy like the rest of the house.

Mickey might have done better on the street. It didn’t help that Mickey leaned against the wall, probably thought the floor and bed were too dirty to sit on in his high dollar jeans.

“Sorry,” Ian muttered, throwing the stray books and papers to the floor so he could clear some room out on his bed. Lip’s bed was basically storage now that he was off at college and Carl’s had plenty of random, probably harmful, objects hidden under the pillow and in between the sheets.

“Why the fuck are you apologizing?”

“It’s not exactly what you’re used to,” Ian explained, embarrassed, and when the bed was cleared off, Mickey still didn’t take a spot.

“The fuck did I say about saying shit you don’t know about?” Mickey grunted.

“Well? How does your room look then?”

He didn’t answer that so Ian nodded with a grin. “Thought so.”

He pat the spot next to him and retrieved schoolwork from his book bag. While rummaging, he pointed his head to the end of the bed. “You can sit.”

Mickey seemed hesitant so after Ian dropped his school stuff out, he raised an eyebrow at the other.

“It’s not that dirty. I clean the sheets, sometimes.”

“I don’t fucking care what you do,” Mickey glared. He hopped over the side of the bed, keeping close to the edge. He looked like he wasn’t sure where to move, so he let one leg dangle and bent the other into Ian’s comforter. The bed wasn’t very big but Mickey was making sure there was plenty of space between the two, his hand clutching the corner like he was about to fall off.

“Hey, I thought you were going to help me,” Ian questioned, finding the problems he was having trouble with earlier that week.

“What makes you assume I’m so goddamn good at this anyways?” Mickey asked harshly, ignoring Ian’s remark. It was kind of funny he asked that after all this time and Ian laughed while flipping through another sheet. He tossed those problems over to Mickey to look over.

“These are pretty hard for me. I spent like three hours in the textbook trying to figure them out.”

Mickey picked it up and in the middle of reading, his body relaxed and his back settled against the wall.

“Did you even try?” Mickey asked but it didn't sound rude, more like curious. Ian slid over to where Mickey was leaning back.

“No, I spent three hours with my dick in my hand. Of course I did, Mickey.”

Mickey peeled himself from the wall when he felt Ian’s voice so close. There was a tense moment and Ian leaned back.

“What? I can’t see the problems from over there.”

“Try fucking harder.”

“Just show me how to do it.”

Mickey looked ready to make a witty comeback but instead he took the pencil up by Ian’s knee and started writing against his own knee.

“Alright, you see this part here? You gotta add this formula in this step first or you won’t get too far. There’s a couple ways to work it out but this is your best bet.”

When Mickey finished explaining through his process, Ian was dumbfounded.

“The kid who dropped out of school for three years can just do this shit at the top of his head. God is so unfair.”

“Hey, I flunked, twice,” Mickey said proudly, “and skipped a grade.”

“Yeah and you flunked because you didn’t fucking come to school. I remember that now.”

“You do?” Mickey asked, already working on the next problem.

“Well, yeah,” Ian shrugged. “I’m pretty sure everyone knows you at school by now. Plus, Mandy talks about you sometimes. I never expected you to be this smart.”

“It’s not being smart,” Mickey said matter of fact like while he scratched some numbers out. “It’s just past learning. I remember shit I’ve read before and apply it. You don’t have to be Newton for that.”

“Well I can’t do it,” Ian said, rolling his eyes but still impressed. He watched in silence as Mickey’s hand worked on the page, listening to Mickey quietly explain each of the steps, like he was talking more to himself than Ian.

“You read a lot?” Ian inquired after a few minutes, settling slightly closer and relaxing when Mickey didn’t freak out.

“Guess so.”

“Science journals?”

“Whatever I can find.”

“Oh, okay, cool,” Ian answered and swept his eyes over Mickey’s face now. Mickey was concentrating but looked bored at the same time and Ian wondered what Mickey did in all that time he wasn’t in school. Well, reading was one thing. .  .

“What?” Mickey said suddenly, scrambling further to the edge when Ian accidentally zoned out on his face.

“I wish I was that smart and then I wouldn’t have to worry about all this shit,” Ian sighed, putting his arm out to all the college applications on the floor. Mickey looked at them for a second and then scribbled more.

“Why the fuck would you want to go to school after you're finally free from it?”

“I’m not living here my whole life,” Ian laughed flatly. “I’m getting out as soon as I graduate.”

“College is fucking useless. They just want to suck you into debt for the rest of your life.”

“Yeah, well, it’s the only way to get a job these days.”

Mickey said nothing and put a dark period down, setting the paper on the bed. There was a door slam downstairs and Mickey jumped, his eyes darting between Ian and the window, like he was about to jump out.

“Calm down, Mickey, that’s probably my sister.”

Regardless of his words, Mickey jumped off the bed and his hands automatically grabbed onto the window seal. It was a reaction that looked so natural, like a routine. Ian stood up.

“Hey, it’s okay.”

Mickey watched the glass and didn't say anything.

“I’m going to go talk to Fiona. You can come if you want.”

When Mickey remained where he was, Ian left and found Fiona running around the kitchen.

“Hey, can I make dinner? I have a friend over,” Ian greeted.

“Mandy? Yeah, of course.”

“It’s not Mandy,” Ian coughed and moved back to the stairs. “Her brother.”

Fiona looked extremely confused but Ian ran back up the stairs before she answered.

He shut the door to the room and found Mickey laying on his stomach on top of Ian’s bed, writing quickly all over the homework. His lips were slightly parted and his overcoat was on the floor among the rest of Ian's clothes and somehow that made heat go to Ian's face. Feeling a little breathless, he spoke up.

“Hey, I have to understand it. I don’t want you to do the work for me, just show me how.”

“This is faster. Fucking take it or leave it,” Mickey grumbled, not slowing the writing. Ian picked the sodas off the floor and put one out to Mickey who took it without looking up. 

It was weird having Mickey in here. In fact, all of his male friends were quick fucks and they never came back with Ian to his own room so having a friend who was a guy and didn't want to get sucked off was unusual.

Mickey was taking up the whole bed now so Ian put weight on his knees on the floor and placed his elbows on the bed by Mickey’s side.  

There was a nice atmosphere now that the sun was going down outside. The walls were glowing a soft orange and Ian felt his eyes drooping as the scribbling slowed. He slid the soda somewhere forgotten on the floor and let his head sink into the covers.

  
  
  
  



	3. Gentle Hands

There was only white light from the moon illuminating Ian's room when he cracked his eyes open. He groaned and felt stiff and sore in the knees. How the hell did he sleep like this?

His back ached when he tried to get himself off the floor. Spreading a blind hand out over his bed, he found it empty and looked at the bunk beds. Carl wasn't home but there was Mickey, his back on the wall by the beds and his face unreadable.

"Mickey?" Ian called drowsily. Mickey didn't move but his eyes shifted to Ian's stretching form. Ian pulled himself up into his own bed and sighed in relief.

"What time is it?"

"Late," Mickey responded, drumming his fingers along his knee cap.

"Oh shit, I never cooked.”

"Sure as hell didn't."

"Shit, I'm sorry, Mickey. I was worn out from this week and must have blacked out.  You hungry?"

"Not really."

When Ian's stomach growled, he sat up from the comfort of his mattress and blinked away the drowsiness.

"I'm starving. Wanna get some grub?"

He stretched one last time and moved slowly to the door, hearing Mickey's light footsteps behind him.

"You won't wake Fi," Ian whispered, when he realized how careful Mickey was being not to get caught, as they descended the steps to the kitchen. Mickey looked like he wanted to say something but kept his mouth shut.

"We don't have much," he yawned, opening the fridge. "Do you like grilled cheese?"

"Doesn't matter," Mickey responded, taking a seat on the couch in the living room as Ian started pulling out the cheese, taking chances to steal looks at what Mickey while he cooked. Mickey started flipping through the magazines on their coffee table but didn’t seem to find any of them worth reading.

The sound of sizzling from the buttery pan filled the silence and once the sandwich was done, Ian grabbed a paper plate and put it on the table in front of Mickey.  He was pressed into the side of the couch like he was being wary not to take up too much space as Ian fell down into the cushion, already digging into his own food. The clock by the TV read '3:00' and Ian almost choked on his bread.

"When you said late you weren't kidding. Why were you even awake to begin with?"

Mickey took his grilled cheese from the plate and leaned on the side of the couch.

"Couldn't sleep?" Ian asked between chews and Mickey bit down into his own.

"Something like that."

It didn’t take long for Ian to finish. He leaned back into the sofa.

"You know, the good thing about living in a crappy house is that nobody's gonna bother to rob us. So you don't have to worry about someone putting a gun to your head, it's safe to sleep."

"Fuck off," Mickey glowered and it was almost angry. Ian rubbed his hands against his jeans and wondered what he said that hit a nerve.

"Why couldn't you sleep?" Ian tried again, feeling bad now for ticking him off.

"Fuck, if I knew I was getting interviewed, I would have slept under a bridge."

Ian sunk further down and his eyes fell.

"Sorry, I was just making sure you were good."

When he jumped up and took the empty plate to the garbage can, he gave one last look at Mickey who was staring at his lap. Ian left him there.

 

Mickey's guitar was gone along with Mickey in the morning. Carl still didn’t come home and Debbie was at a friend’s house apparently, leaving Ian alone with Liam for the morning.

Ian used the rest of his weekend to look over the work Mickey had wrote out. He made extra notes and studied well into the afternoon. On the last page of the physics problems, Ian paused. At the bottom, written in much neater script, were four words.

'Thanks for the food.'

He smiled a bit. So maybe Mickey didn’t hate him for prying or making judgments. That or he knew how to be grateful.

He felt bad because he never got the chance to thank Mickey for all the help, considering Ian fell asleep and who knows how long Mickey spent on that work. He shook his head and flipped to the back of the page so he could work the problems out on his own and get back on track.

School that Monday went like a dream. Ian felt confident taking the pop quiz in Physics and not only that but an attractive guy in the same grade asked for his number. He smiled down at the scrawl and bumped into someone.

“Watch where you’re fucking- Oh, hey, Ian!”

It was Mandy, dressed in a lace top and black skinny jeans, popping a massive bubble of gum.

“Who’s the lucky guy?” she smirked, seeing the number in his hand and he just laughed.

“English class. I forgot his name.”

“Ouch,” she winced and walked with him to the cafeteria. Typically, Ian felt a lot happier when a guy, especially a cute one, came up to flirt but when he held onto the scrap of paper, somehow the ink didn’t make him as happy as the words Mickey left on his homework had.

Across the cafeteria, Ian could see that leather case that bounded Mickey’s guitar and it was of course, in the grass next to Mickey who was circled by a group of guys.They were all lounging outside, on the other side of the window.

He felt his heartbeat quicken when Mickey smiled, his whole face lighting up, and even from this distance he could see his brilliant white teeth and the crinkles on his cheeks, the way he bent over just a bit in the middle of the laughter. Ian turned away at the sight, feeling not only embarrassed but idiotic for even looking at Mandy’s brother that way, with her standing close by at that.

Something inside of him stirred. Mickey was stoic, void of laughter, and angry last night. Did Ian peeve him off? Maybe he came on too strong with the sex thing and pressuring him into tutoring Ian. Fuck, he wanted to apologize.

Lunch with Mandy was entertaining enough until her most recent boy toy sat with them. He looked good but his attitude was complete garbage. Mandy didn’t seem to care much about that and typed away on her phone while he tried to engage them in some story about a party he got wasted at.

Ian nodded at appropriate points, feeling like that was Mandy’s job but not wanting to be rude, and looked past him where Mickey’s crew was standing outside. When the guy seemed to give up on his story, Ian turned to Mandy.

“Hey, how come your brother didn’t go to the house last night?”

She looked up from her phone in surprise and sipped on the chocolate milk from her tray.

“He doesn’t get along with dad so he skips out. It happens all the time.”

“Where does he usually go?”

“With one of his friends that he does weed with,” she drawled, sending another text, and pursed her lips. “Why the sudden interest in Mickey?”

“I’m not,” Ian defended. It was quiet for a second before he went on. “I just think it’s weird that Mickey doesn’t go to school for years and suddenly shows up for his final year? Why does he bother?”

“Dad doesn’t want a dropout kid. It’s bad for his rep,” Mandy answered and smiled slightly. “He’s always fucking around so dad hates him but he finally knew how to get Mickey’s ass over here.”

Ian and the fuck boy were waiting and Mandy shrugged.

“Mickey loves music, playing guitar specifically, and dad threatened to break his fingers if he didn’t come to school. End of story.”

“What the fucking hell? Are you kidding me?”

“I was surprised it worked. Mickey never really listened to him before now.”

Ian was so in shock that he couldn’t stomach the rest of his food and got up. Mandy jumped up too, ignoring the other guy to follow Ian.

“Wait! What’s wrong?”

“You serious, Mandy? Your dad sounds abusive.”

“Well, in a sense, he is. I never told you, huh? He’s negligent, overall a piece of shit, only cares about his company, and hates us. I don’t get caught doing stupid shit though so he doesn’t go after me the way he does Mickey. It’s just how it is.”

“Just how it is,” Ian snapped, whirling around. “Fuck, Mandy. You really think your dad threatening you guys like that is okay?”

“Sorry,” she said and sounded confused. “I don’t know what you want me to say, Ian.”

“Nothing at all. I have class.”

“Are you mad?”

“No,” he breathed out, not even understanding why he was so worked up. “I’m just going to class.”

Class dragged out to no end and when it was finally over, Ian practically ran out. He avoided meeting Mandy and went to the courtyard, finding a nice spot under the dogwood tree.

He was so glad to be done with classes for the day and staying away from home for a few hours might be the breather he needed. He brushed his hair back from his face and started catching up on the vocab for French class.

“Do you ever stop studying?”

The voice came from above and when he looked up, Mickey was lounging on one of the the broad tree branches, his legs dangling. There was a book in his hand and a cigarette in the other.

“Do you ever stop reading?” Ian said back and Mickey actually smirked, going back to the book.

Ian felt pressured to continue the conversation but he buried his head back into his binder and got comfortable against the tree trunk. It was then he noticed the guitar case leaning against the other side of the tree and he reached out to touch it.

“The fuck you doing?” Mickey asked calmly after a puff of the cigarette but didn’t move to stop Ian who was now opening the case. 

“Just checking out the merchandise.”

The guitar was pretty, much prettier than he expected. It had a shiny coat and was dark wood. It looked brand new and Ian couldn’t help but trace his finger over the strings.

“Damn, did you just pick this up from the store?”

“Present from daddy,” Mickey spat, taking another drag. That reminded Ian of his earlier conversation with Mandy but he couldn’t bring himself to pry. Obviously Mickey hated answering personal questions so he just flicked the guitar strings in amusement.

They didn’t talk for a while and Mickey kept reading, at an inhumane pace in Ian’s opinion, while Ian lazily plucked on the guitar, getting brave enough to take it out of the case and put it in his lap. He glanced up but found Mickey didn’t seem to care and tried strumming quietly.

“Hey, Mick!” a voice called out from the other side of the courtyard. Mickey squinted out but didn’t answer. Ian could make out three people standing by the far building and they all looked too old to be in high school.

“You want to hang out tonight?”

“Who the fuck’s asking?” Mickey shouted out, returning to his book.

“Mike!”

Mickey clicked with his tongue and flipped another page.

“Aight,” he said, far too low for them to hear. The three guys stood chatting for a moment before they decided to walk up to the tree. When they rolled up, they gave Ian a hard look. One of them reached their arm up to hit Mickey’s shoe.

“Yo, we on for tonight?”

“I fucking said alright. Can’t you see I’m doing shit here?”

“That gay ass reading shit,” the one with the beard muttered and received a swing at the head from Mickey’s foot. Ian stopped touching the guitar and tried to avoid the eyes of the men.

“Who the fuck is this?” one of them asked, looking down at Ian suspiciously.

“Don’t fucking worry about it. Aren’t you on parole? The fuck you doing at my school?”

“You know he don’t have anything better to do than get on our nerves,” another one said and they started hitting at each other. Ian felt uncomfortable when one of them leaned down to eye him.

“Isn’t that your fucking guitar this ginger’s messing with? What the fuck, Mickey! You won’t even let anyone breath on it, much less play it!”

“He ain’t playing it and you have hot ass breath so step off,” Mickey glared, finally jumping down from his perch. He pushed the guy back from Ian’s side and took that seat, propping his legs out close to Ian’s own.

“Can you guys scram? I’m fucking busy.”

The men looked between the two of them and left. Ian felt like his body was tied down to the ground now when Mickey’s shoes brushed up against his calf and a tranquil silence settled between them.

"I passed the quiz today," Ian murmured, fingering the guitar again. Mickey didn’t look away from his book but he made a small sound, indicating he heard him.

“Thanks, a lot, for coming over and stuff. I mean you could have stayed with someone else but you didn’t. So, yeah, thanks.”

“Stutter anymore and I’m gonna stop listening,” Mickey replied, putting his cigarette out to Ian who gladly took it. It felt intimate, smoking something Mickey’s lips touched even though Ian smoked with his family and Mandy plenty of times.

“Uh, so,” Ian wanted to hit himself for stuttering again. He took a quick puff and handed it back, their fingers brushed and his chest clenched. “Is it true you don’t let anyone touch your guitar?”

Mickey was looking at him now, his blue eyes were calm and there was a smoothness about the way he was sitting back. He looked like he didn’t belong in this time period, like the smoking and the dark hair and the way he was distancing himself from Ian even though they were sitting close, it all seemed taken from another decade.

“Is there a problem with that?” he quirked, letting his eyelids fall slightly as he inhaled from the cigarette, the end brightening to orange and then going black again.

Ian tore his eyes away, not knowing what to say. He was about to put the guitar back into the case when Mickey’s fingers were suddenly on his own. He felt his breath suck in and his pupils dilate at the light weight over his hands and his legs trembled slightly when Mickey leaned forward, his breath close to Ian’s ear.

“You know why, Ian?”

Ian was so still, plastered against the tree, that he couldn’t even produce a sound from his throat to respond.

“Your hands aren’t meant for breaking things,” Mickey said lowly and then his body heat vanished and Mickey was standing up, tucking his book under his arm and tossing his cigarette to the grass. He plucked the guitar from Ian and clasped it in the case, slinging it over his back. When Mickey walked off, Ian just stared numbly into the grass, his heart thumping so hard against his chest that he thought it would collapse any second.


	4. Water Does Wonders

It was foggy and Ian’s throat was drying out from the heat in the room. Bodies pressed against each other and moved mindlessly, some sliding up to Ian, who just tried to stick to Mandy.

“Mandy, hold on.”

She grabbed his hand and pulled him through the crowd, giggling and waving at some guys who were checking her out.

“Mandy, where are we going?”

“To meet your boyfriend,” she laughed and he puffed his cheeks out, defeated. They finally stopped at the edge of the room, where Ian could get some space. He felt icky with all the sweaty skin from the dancing people rubbing up against him. There was a couple making out on the couch nearby and another undressing each other on the wall.

“This isn’t exactly what I pictured when you said we were having fun tonight,” Ian said loudly, trying to talk over the blaring music. Mandy was swaying and grinned at him.

“Alex wanted to meet here and that hot guy from your English class wanted to see you so relax.”

Relaxing was hard to do when all people were doing around you was mind fucking each other. Ian wasn’t a stranger to sex, not even close, but being in a room full of people who were horny, smashed, and doped up was making him feel sick.

“Hey,” he heard from behind him. It was the guy from English class. Ian tried to smile back.

“Remember? Josh?” The guy laughed and Ian nodded.

“Oh yeah, I wouldn’t forget.”

This seemed to flatter him and they went on chatting idly after that. The guy Mandy was seeing showed up and they were instantly standing close and kissing with their hips pressed together.

Ian could feel the intentions from the guy he was talking with. He wanted to fuck Ian, no doubt about that. Usually, he fucked for money or other perks, but this guy wasn’t too bad looking and nothing was wrong with having sex for fun sometime, was there?

“I’ll get us some drinks,” the guy smiled and disappeared among the people around them. Mandy was nowhere to be found and Ian felt itchy so he escaped the house, walking out into the fresh night air.

People were passed out on the lawn and others were singing loudly but Ian found a more quiet spot once he walked further out in the backyard. There were some guys throwing beer bottles and laughing nearby but they ran off down the street when somebody started shouting at them. Ian didn’t know how he got Mandy to talk him into coming to this party, he was never one for social events.

There was a swing set in the backyard covered in pretty greenery and he moved the vines a bit so he could sit down on the white wood. It was much quieter here except for the occasional screaming teenagers on the other side of the lawn.

“Didn’t take you for the party type.”

Ian looked up and found Mickey walking up to him. He was dressed up a bit more than usual, wearing dark jeans and a burgundy button down. Ian sat up and tensed when Mickey got closer.

“I’m here with Mandy.”

“Is that bitch pregnant yet?” Mickey asked. Ian folded his hands.

“Uh, I don’t think so.”

Mickey fell next to him which was funny because as far as Ian remembered, Mickey always avoided sitting close. There was a cloudiness in Mickey’s eyes and Ian realized he was probably kind of drunk, being at this party and all. The noise seemed much more distant now and sitting here with Mickey, Ian felt less alone.

“So fucking tired,” Mickey moaned, letting his head fall back on the swing. He pushed on the stone under them lazily with his foot and the swing creaked slowly back and forth.

The vines draped around the swing smelled sweet and the cool air helped to comfort Ian from all that nausea he was feeling before. Mickey’s eyes were closed and he was breathing slowly, on the verge of passing out it looked like.

“You okay?” Ian asked tentatively and Mickey just moaned quietly. Ian blushed, knowing this wasn’t the time to be having racy thoughts.

“Well, somebody’s waiting for me. I should get back,” Ian said awkwardly and Mickey opened his eyes to look at him. It was like when they were sitting under the tree the other afternoon. That same look that was almost longing, full of unspoken things, secrets that Ian would never know.

“You don’t have to.”

Although he was obviously a little out of his right mind, Mickey spoke so clearly that Ian couldn’t miss it. His tone was what struck him. It was practically affectionate.

Ian gulped, knowing that now he was just being ridiculous and over thinking every little thing this guy did. If he wanted to get laid, he could do it by the overly eager kid waiting for him at the house party. No point in wasting his night with Mickey who not only didn’t seem gay but didn’t seem interested in sex and love and all that jazz in the first place. Maybe that was Ian being judgmental again.

The strange thing was that Ian, while attracted to Mickey, didn’t really want to simply fuck him. It was like, he wanted to get closer, in a way he never felt with anyone else before.

“I don’t really have incentive to stay,” Ian exhaled, saying it more seriously than he meant. His voice trailed off as he met Mickey’s gaze. He thought about the sex with the other guy waiting in the house and how good it would feel, giving his body up because he wanted to and not because he felt like he had to. Hot kisses and arousal, it should be making Ian run in that house right now.

Except Mickey’s knee was touching his own and his eyes were a beautiful sky and Ian wanted to touch Mickey, in a loving way, not in the way he’s touched other guys or been touched by other guys, but in a way that meant something. He wanted to learn about Mickey’s past and listen to Mickey’s heartbeat and reach over so he could take Mickey’s hand in his own. It was so much less intimate than sex and yet so much more.

Whoah, where did all that come from? Ian shot up, feeling confused by his own thoughts. When the fuck was it okay for him to feel that way about Mandy’s brother? He barely knew Mickey and it was creepy even considering all those things.

“Wanna get out of here?”

Ian looked down and Mickey leaned up, a gentleness in his normally uncaring eyes when the question slipped out. Ian wasn't sure if Mickey should be going anywhere except to sleep and shifted on his feet. He also didn’t know if that line was suggesting ‘my place or yours’. He doubted it, getting no sexual vibes from the other and because of his prior rejection when Ian offered himself up for tutoring.

“Um, you look dead where you sit,” Ian joked to lighten the mood but Mickey didn’t laugh.

“Fuck,” Mickey sighed, wincing, and his head fell back again. Ian peered around but it was just the two of them there. He decided to take a chance and put the back of his hand to Mickey’s forehead, feeling the slight fever from the other.

“Want some water or something?” he asked slowly and Mickey hummed incoherently.

“Ian! I was looking for you,” a voice called from behind. His hand flew back and he turned around to find Josh jogging up. There was a crease in his brow when he saw Mickey.

“Is that Mandy’s brother?”

“Yeah,” Ian shrugged.

“Damn, he’s smashed,” the guy laughed and Ian looked back down at Mickey whose head was moving off the swing. When his limp body started to slide over, Ian grabbed him and pushed him back up.

He expected the smell of alcohol but when his nose got close to Mickey’s hair, it was a fresh scent, like soap and citrus. Mickey’s breath was on his neck and Ian tried to re-position him comfortably but Mickey making quiet sounds was distracting.

“His face is hot, he might be sick,” Ian said, trying to ignore how hard the muscles of Mickey’s arms were underneath the red cotton of his sleeves. Josh looked at him like he was mad and smiled lopsidedly.

“Dude, he’s probably just drunk off his ass. Leave him to sleep it off.”

Ian was still holding onto Mickey but when Josh wouldn’t stop staring, he peeled himself off.

“I don’t know. I should tell Mandy.”

“Mandy? She’s his sister not his mommy. Come enjoy the party, it’s no fun without you,” the guy smirked, reaching out to grab Ian’s arm. Ian pulled back and looked to the side, feeling the air tense.

“I was leaving soon anyway.”

It was awkwardly quiet and then Josh left without a word. Shit, what made him say that? Now he had to deal with Mickey’s unconscious body. . .

“Hey?” Ian tried, shaking his shoulder. Mickey’s eyes slid open for just a few seconds before they shut again.

“I’m gonna get Mandy to drive you home. That cool?”

Even though it was groaned out, he could hear the definite ‘no’ this time. What else was he supposed to do?

“Uh, Mickey, I need to get you home.”

When he turned around, Mickey’s fingers found his wrist and he was shaking his head loosely. Ian sighed and pried the hand off.

“Yes, Mandy knows where you live. I don’t.”

“Your house,” Mickey slurred and then he was slumping over again. How many drinks did he have?

It wasn’t a bad idea. Ian’s house was only two blocks from here and he had enough strength to carry Mickey that far. How disturbing would it be for him to take a passed out guy back to his place though? Well, it wasn’t like Mickey was a stranger. . .

Plus, he just needed somewhere to sleep the alcohol off and maybe some medicine for the headache. He didn’t understand why Mickey didn’t want to tell Mandy but he couldn't do much about it. He decided that he would respect those wishes just for now, even if the wishes of a drunk person were usually stupid.

He put Mickey’s arms around his shoulder and lifted him onto his back, glad that he wasn’t too heavy. Mickey’s arms lazily tightened and his head fell to the crook of Ian’s neck causing Ian to blush.

He went as fast as he could to the house, trying to avoid the looks of the people that passed them. When he got home, Fiona was out with one of her boyfriends and Debbie was asleep. Carl, of course, still wasn’t at the house when he trudged up the stairs.

His knees were getting weak from carrying Mickey’s dead weight for so long. He dropped him as gently as he could onto his bed and after taking a moment to gather the ability to walk again, he went to the kitchen. He returned to the room with a glass of water and some of the pain medicine Fiona took for cramps.

Mickey was moving around a bit now, grabbing onto Ian’s pillow and pulling it close to himself which Ian couldn’t help but smile at. He tapped the guitar player’s shoulder but Mickey just buried himself deeper into the pillow, breathing heavily against it.

“Hey, Mick? You okay?”

There was no answer so Ian placed the water and medicine by the wall and sat down on the floor. He grabbed his Calculus homework and pointed the lamp down so that the light wouldn’t reach where Mickey was resting.

One second he was about to have sex and the next he was nursing a school dropout back to health while doing fucking math homework. What kind of world was this?

A couple hours passed and Ian was drifting in and out, so bored with the work that he almost forgot about the guy sleeping on his bed until he heard him turn over.

“What the fuck?” Mickey was muttering under his breath and as he sat up a bit, Ian put the glass of water and pills out automatically. Mickey looked at him with sleepy eyes and tried to push the hand away but Ian insisted.

“Take them.”

“The fuck is going on?”

“You have a hangover, just take them.”

Mickey looked grumpy but took the medicine and water, downing it in two swallows. When he was done, Ian grabbed the glass and slid it to the side.

“Did you fucking drug me so I could help you do more school shit?” Mickey asked, rubbing a hand over his face. Ian leaned his elbows on the space by Mickey and smiled.

“Oh, yeah, like I couldn’t have just fucked that really smart guy in my Calculus class into doing the work for me.”

Mickey was still rubbing his eyes and then looked at Ian like he was crazy.

“The fuck? Don’t tell me that shit.”

“Well, since I’m such a good doctor, you could earn your keep by helping me out while you’re here.”

Ian shoved the papers into Mickey’s open lap to which Mickey looked down, dumbfounded.

“I didn’t ask you to drag me to your house in the middle of the night for this shit.”

“Oh?” Ian sat up a bit and smirked. “I distinctively remember you saying, scratch that, pleading the words ‘your house’ because you didn’t want Mandy to take you home.”

Mickey looked even more confused and picked through the papers.

“You mean when I was buzzed? I don't fucking plead. Not for anything, let's get that shit straight.”

“You were drunk.”

“Yeah, well technically you brought me here, without consent. Can’t consent while you’re on alcohol, asshole,” Mickey smiled sarcastically.

“I could have just left you there,” Ian defended and Mickey fell back into the covers, already writing on the homework with the pencil Ian tossed on the bed.  “For some creepy teenager to fondle,” he finished, scooting closer so he could watch what Mickey was writing.

“It’s better to get fondled by you, huh?” Mickey asked dully.

“I didn’t fondle you.”

“That’s too bad because this is the best ass you’ll ever get.”

And that sent Ian flushing.

“You can still do this with a hangover?” he mused, crawling up onto the bed, relieved that Mickey didn't get spooked, and made himself comfortable.

“Water does wonders,” Mickey yawned, “plus I’m brilliant as fuck.”

Ian grinned and as he watched Mickey scribble, he felt his heart hammering and it all seemed like some dream when Mickey actually started listing out what Ian was doing wrong on the sheet and how to fix it.

Fuck, Ian was falling for this guy.


	5. Don't Sink Like a Stone

_Faggot._

Spray painted in bold red on Ian's locker, it was the first thing he saw on his way to class this morning. He stared at it for a few seconds before taking his books out and heading to class.

Some kids were whispering as he walked by and that's what made him angry, not the fact that someone was outting him. What the fuck did he do for someone to graffiti on his locker? It wasn't exactly a secret, especially among the male population that couldn't seem to keep their eyes off Ian anyways, even if they were straight.

Most of his fuck boys were either gay themselves, usually closeted, or they had a give and take thing where they could pretend they didn't like guys, fuck Ian, pay him, and move on. Now there was a big spotlight on him and he would have to deal with people's eyes following him all day.

French class started off fine, just a couple of giggles in his direction but he was used to that for being red headed. He looked over some terms before the test and felt a guy put his feet up on his chair.

"Bet he wants to french something," one of the guys behind him said not so quietly and Ian just kept his head low.

The bell rang and he moved on, not believing this was happening. He could go write any word he wanted on a locker and apparently the whole school would believe it.

Mandy was nowhere to be found today and Ian figured she was probably getting the remains of the party out of her system. He sat alone at lunch and let his eyes rest until it was time to go to class again. There were plenty of people talking about him behind his back but none of them were brave enough to go up to him.  

He thought about his night with Mickey. It was late when he finally dozed off, laying next to Mickey who didn't move away this time, and when he woke up in the morning, he was gone. It was nice, just listening to Mickey's calm voice and the tiny scratches of lead on paper.

Even with Mandy, who was his best friend, he never felt that close. They laughed about a couple things in between studying, things Mandy wouldn't find funny, and it was nice because ever since Lip left, he felt like he didn't have any close guy friends to chat with. 

They kept the conversations light, Ian being careful not to bring up anything too personal as to avoid Mickey's hostility and that seemed to make Mickey feel more at ease than he was his last visit. Ian pushed his food around with his fork and then cleared his throat, ready to go train.

JROTC was hell today. Normally that was Ian's escape but today it was like everyone was going out of their way not to interact with him. When it was all over, he didn't bother going to change out of uniform, knowing that somebody would make a gay comment and grabbed his stuff so he could head home.

The courtyard was emptying as the students were leaving but some still stuck around for after school and Ian tried his best not to stick out when he made way for the bus.

"Hey," a deep voice behind him called out and he looked back. It was the hockey player he fucked a few weeks back so he could get some money to give Fiona for the electric bill. Ian waved but the guy smiled, in a wrong sort of way that made Ian's stomach drop.

"Sporting the clothes of our country's heroes while fucking dudes, fag?"

Ian was used to guys like this, quick fuck and then they pretended it didn't happen. They never had enough balls to put Ian's sexuality into the open, usually too scared of association. Ian looked the guy in the eyes, irritated at the fact that a circle was now forming around them.

"Yeah, forget about the army, we don't need queers trying to shoot guns. Stay home and get your nails done," the hockey player laughed, getting some cheers from some of his friends.

Ian's camouflage hat shadowed his eyes which were boring holes into this moron's skull. He could have mentioned their fuck but knew that nobody would believe it at this point so he turned to leave. The students standing behind him didn't move, too hyped for a fight now.

"Can I go now?" Ian asked, his hand firm on his backpack strap, but the kids wouldn't move.

He was jerked back by the hockey player and they came face to face. Ian barely remembered what it was like to fuck this guy but he must have been the rough type. The guy was biting his lip, probably trying to keep himself from getting a boner right now while he looked at Ian. He shouted a few more remarks and shoved him back, laughing while Ian fixed his uniform.

"Done gay bashing, tough guy?" Ian asked, at his limit. The heat from the sun was making his head hot and he had to get out of there, fast. He couldn't afford a suspension.

It was then he saw Mickey and his crew hanging back, standing by the dogwood tree watching with slight interest from afar.He met eyes with Mickey for a moment, there was something more than boredom there, something untraceable, and then he felt the air from the jock's punch as he luckily dodged the arm last second. Ian didn't hesitate to swing back, landing a good hit under the guy's eye.

The jock staggered back momentarily and then flew forward to grab Ian who clipped him across the chin, sending him to his knees on the concrete. The hockey player cried out in pain and Ian rubbed his knuckles, readjusting his hat.

"Put some ice on it," Ian said as the jock still didn't get up from his hunched over position.

Nobody spoke a word so Ian picked up his fallen book bag and looked at the kids in his way. They moved and watched him leave all the way to the bus stop.

 

Ian was startled awake when something tapped against his window that night. He sat up and looked at the time. It was only eight and he wondered how fast he must have fell out when he got home. There was another tap so Ian tossed aside the covers and went to the window.

There, under the streetlight, stood Mickey, his arm reaching back to toss another stone but when he saw Ian, he dropped it in the road. He was smiling a bit and held a couple of beers up like some peace offering. Ian laced his shoes on and raced downstairs, letting the door close quietly behind him so he didn't disturb a sleeping Fiona on the couch.

"What are you doing here, Mick?" he asked, unable to stop the smile on his own face. Mickey put the beer out and sipped on the one that was already open.

"Thought you could use some time away from that goddamn school shit," he explained, shaking the can around in his hand. Ian wondered if he meant the fight or his textbook and shrugged.

"I was sleeping actually."

As Mickey finished his beer, he was about to trash it on Ian's lawn but took the extra steps to the garbage can and gave Ian a _see how much of a good person I am_ look.

"Really, what are you here for?" Ian smiled and Mickey raised an eyebrow.

"We're fucking getting you out of here for a few hours. What? Got curfew or something?"

"No," Ian laughed and gulped down the beer.

"Then let's go, army. I have some cash this time so pick a place."

Ian looked at him quietly and swallowed the oncoming crack in his voice.

"Even if it was a gay bar?"

There was that unspoken thing between them again, Ian wanting to know if Mickey really understood what he was asking and Mickey didn't avert his eyes in the slightest. He put his hands in his pocket and his features softened.

"You fucking kidding me? Screw guys all you want but could we do something fucking fun instead?"

When he said it, Ian's entire face broke out into a smile, his heavy heart lifting, and that's when Mickey tossed a pebble at that smiling face. It was so starting that Ian could only stare in disbelief until Mickey smirked, running off. When he recovered, he picked the fallen stone back up, sprinted after Mickey, and they ran down the street shouting stupid shit at each other.

Somehow Ian knew that he didn't want to be anywhere else.

 

 


	6. Animal Cruelty

One afternoon, Ian found Mickey lounging in the courtyard tree, completely unaware of the world. Ian didn't bother greeting him, knowing he was too engrossed in his reading to respond. Instead, he immediately began working on a paper and an hour passed without a word between them. Finally, Mickey spoke, scaring the shit out of Ian.

"Damn, man. If it's a formula you rack your brain but that English paper is a whole new playing field for you."

Ian's hand stopped writing and he blushed, wondering how much Mickey could read from up there.

"Do you write a lot? You're not bad," Mickey went on and being praised for the first time in his life, with the exception of his English teachers, brought an overjoyed feeling out of Ian and he couldn't do anything except smile and keep writing.

The sky was cloudy and there was a warm breeze brushing through the leaves of the dogwood tree. Nobody was in the courtyard and Ian wondered how long Mickey had claimed this spot. Did he read here during Freshman year? There were so many things he wanted to know but was too afraid to ask.

Mickey went back to reading for another twenty minutes and then jumped down, landing effortlessly by Ian. He was about to snatch up his guitar but was stopped when Ian grabbed his wrist and pulled him into a crouched position so they were at eye level.

Maybe he felt more confident after Mickey's compliment or the sun was making him too hot, either way Ian knew he was treading in dangerous waters now. Mickey looked calm and expecting, like he was a bit ready to hit Ian for grabbing him so roughly but more fascinated by what he was planning to do next.

"You can read it if you let me hear you play," Ian said bravely and his eyes fell on the guitar case. Mickey went from calm to hostile in a flash and ripped himself from Ian's grasp.

"Don't get fucking cocky," he growled and then he was gone.

There was a passing moment of shock and then Ian felt hot tears brimming in his eyes and he knew whatever bond was forming between them may have just broke. He screwed up, getting too greedy to get closer to Mickey when he should have kept it light.

He refused to cry and bit down on the inside of his cheek to keep the tears from spilling and continued writing the last paragraph of his paper.

It was then that a cold hand took his chin and lifted it and his eyes locked with Mickey's which were wild and feral but when they focused on Ian's face, they mellowed. It was like watching a wolf suddenly go docile and Ian blinked, feeling a tear escape and toll down his face.

"I don't play for anyone, Ian," Mickey murmured in one breath and he left again, dropping Ian's damp face.

Logically, Mickey was overreacting but Ian knew that there was some reason behind that anger. There was a fear there, something in Mickey’s defensive nature that Ian wanted to piece together but he now he had overstepped his bounds.

Ian wiped the tear, feeling frustrated with himself until the sound of Mickey plucking lightly on the guitar came from the other side of the tree.

"Better be a hell of a paper," he heard Mickey mutter and then Ian froze as Mickey began to play.

Mickey’s playing was warm and rich, loose and airy. It was soft, whimsical, and lulled Ian into a dreamy state. Ian leaned his head back against the tree trunk and closed his eyes and he could almost feel the warmth from Mickey’s own body pressed on the opposite side.

He didn’t know how long he listened to the playing but he knew it was the most beautiful and the most sorrowful sound he’s ever heard.

 

"Why can't I ever come over, Mandy?"

When Ian asked this, Mandy looked at him like he had cracked. They were standing in the middle of the hallway, getting dirty looks from people going by.

"What are you talking about?"

"Your house. You always invite your boy toys over but I still haven't been. Is it because I'm South Side?"

She sighed and took one of his hands, ignoring the traffic in the hallway.

"Ian, you know I don't care about that."

"And what about your dad? He cares?" Ian asked, his mouth hardening into a thin line. She let go of his hands and rolled her eyes.

"Please let this go, Ian. You just can't come over, alright?"

Ian backed away, hurt that Mandy didn't at least explain why she didn't want him over. She was his best friend and here she was admitting that other people could come without a problem.

"Why the hell do you Milkovich's think you're so untouchable?”

She looked confused and was about to speak but he stormed off and didn't look back.

 

Ian had his arms crossed and felt so out of place in this neighborhood. There were pretty cars and instead of homeless people or drugged up kids on the street, there were old people walking their dogs, not worrying about it being night time since the crime in this neighborhood must have been low.

The gate to the Milkovich residence was thick, high, and surrounded the entire house. Well, running from the police since he could walk was one advantage to being South Side. Ian gave himself a pat on the back when he successfully scaled and dropped to the other side of the fence.

He had the cover of night going for him at least but was surprised to find there weren’t any alarms or ravenous dogs or guards with suits to greet him. It was just a long climb up a tree covered hill and then there was the house. It was gorgeous and even bigger than Ian suspected and there were lights in the bushes and along the stone pathway, illuminating it like it was some divine display.

He knew he couldn't just go knocking on the door so he looked for an entry point, surveying the holy ground with his eyes.

There were a lot of lights on in the house, probably didn't need to worry about bills, Ian thought in envy. He neared the grand building and decided it would be safer to text Mandy now.

After it sent, he felt kind of like a stalker and wondered how she would react. It wasn't like he was particularly jealous of her inviting other people but he had to find out what she was hiding because he was tired of being kept in the dark. Three years had to count for something.

The reply from Mandy was quick and she was as flustered as he expected. She told him to wait by the fountain. Fountain? He whipped his head back and forth but couldn't find it.

He decided to try the back and there it was, huge and lit up. Ian didn't want to imagine their bills anymore. He sat at the edge, on the smooth ivory, and marveled at the carved lion with wings that was spouting water below. 

After a few minutes, he could hear voices shouting and the large wooden door in front of where he was sitting swung open. He started to fall back in the water in surprise, not knowing if he should be seen or not and then relaxed when he saw Mandy and Mickey pushing each other around on the way down the marble steps.

"He's here to see me, Mick! Weren't you three seconds from taking a hike a second ago? Fuck off!"

"Oh really? Then why the fuck is he hiding in the backyard? Don't your bitches usually slip in the window?"

She tried to punch him but he moved back and Ian coughed loudly. They turned around and Mandy ran down to hug Ian who didn't know what to say now that he was here.

"I'm not her bitch," he settled with, moving into the embrace,. Mickey leaned back against the house, crossing his arms.

“Oh yeah? I have a position available if you’re interested,” he replied and Ian smiled even though Mickey wasn't.

“Shut the fuck up, Mickey. Ian, what the fuck did I say about coming over?”

“I thought he was here to see you, dear sister?”

“Fuck you, Mickey!” Mandy yelled and then pulled back from the hug.

“Sorry, Mandy, I got nosy,” Ian admitted and looked down.

“Look, Ian, I don’t want you over because if my dad catches you, he’ll hurt you.”

“What are you talking about?’ Ian asked, looking up. He could see that fear in Mandy’s eyes, that same fear that sometimes clouded Mickey’s. Looking at the two of them now, he could see the resemblance.

“I invite those guys over, yeah, but that’s different. They don’t mean as much, Ian. If something happened to you then I would-” she broke off and shook her head, wiping fresh tears.

“If he hurt you then I might really kill him.”

Ian didn’t know how to respond to all this information but Mickey did it for him.

“Fucking do it then. Let’s just fucking do it tonight. I know a guy who can get us some acid and we can disintegrate that bitch,” Mickey said, pulling a cigarette from his pants and lighting it up.

“Then we can burn the house down, disappear, fuck let’s do this right now,” he murmured against the cigarette on his lips. Ian knew that none of it was a joke and that frightened him.

“You fucking serious? Where the fuck would we go? Go the fuck inside or to your friend’s or the street, I don’t care. Fucking go away, I’m talking to Ian here,” Mandy snapped.

It was then that they heard a deep shout from inside the house and Mickey looked at her.

“If he catches Ian out here, who knows what he’ll do.”

“Fuck!” Mandy glared and started to shove Ian towards the woods.

“Hey, what the hell? Why can’t I stay?” Ian asked, trying to get Mandy off and Mickey flicked some ash on the steps.

“My dad thinks I’m a whore and he’ll kill any guys I bring over,” Mandy explained and it was so simple that Ian turned around and got her off of him.

“Okay? So what? You couldn’t have just told me that three years ago? I don't mind sneaking around.”

“Ian, this isn’t funny. I don’t mean like other dad’s ‘he’ll kill you’, I mean he will seriously take a gun to your throat and pull the trigger. He won’t go to jail for it either, has too many connections to the police.”

“I don’t care,” Ian sighed, grabbing Mandy by the shoulders. “I’ve handled worse, I think. Your dad can try to control you if he wants but he can't stop me from seeing my best friend.”

“No, Ian, don’t,” Mandy said and she looked really scared when the shouting got closer. Even Mickey was starting to tense up. He walked down the steps.

“Go in,” he ordered, pulling the two apart. “I’ll show Ian out.”

Mandy and Ian looked at each other and then Mandy went back in the house. Mickey sauntered into the woods and said, "come on," so seriously that Ian followed. Not too far after they left, they could hear screaming.

“They’re just arguing, don’t worry,” Mickey muttered when he saw Ian’s body turn around, ready to sprint back. “He doesn’t really hit her much so she’ll be fine.”

Ian was silent but couldn’t take it anymore when they were halfway down the hill.

“Hit her much, huh? So, this is it? You guys have an abusive dad and that’s why you can’t trust anyone.”

Mickey dropped the cigarette and crushed it under his shoe, glowering back at Ian.

“Fuck off.”

“You want to kill your dad, he wants to kill you. You don’t do anything about it? Go to the cops, tell someone?”

“You heard my sister. He knows the cops, fuck off.”

“No,” Ian said and he felt antsy, his shoes rubbing into the leaves harshly. It was taking all of his power not to run back to the house.

“Fucking go,” Mickey threatened and then he walked by Ian who was starting to breathe heavily. “Just get out of here. This has nothing to do with you.”

Ian dug his shoe into the Earth and his fists clenched, his nails dug into his palms so hard that it cut through but it didn’t hurt, not the way that everything else was hurting.

“This isn’t fucking fair, Mickey! What the fuck else does he do, huh? He must do fucking something because every time you look at me, I see an animal trying to survive. You're always ready to attack and defend. What? Is that all you know because of your dad? Is that why when you came to my house for the first time, you were ready to fucking jump out the window at any second? Is it because you have to be ready to escape when shit gets bad at home? What the fuck happens in that house, huh?”

Ian didn’t even realize he was crying until it was too late and he knew what was coming. Mickey would beat the shit out of him for saying too much and for trying to get too involved. He would send Ian home bleeding this time for sure but Ian didn’t care anymore. He felt hysterical, trying to heave so he could get some air.

“You move away when someone sits too close and you’re afraid of trust. Isn’t that why you read and play music? So you can bear being alone because you don’t think you deserve-”

Ian’s back hit the hard dirt below and he was soon covered in dead leaves. It hurt like hell having the breath knocked out of him and when he stopped seeing stars, Mickey was leering over him, a hand holding onto his collar. The trees seemed to be branching out into the dark sky behind Mickey. He looked completely vulnerable.

“Stop,” Mickey whispered. “Stop doing this.”

Ian wasn’t exactly sure what ‘this’ meant but he didn’t have time to contemplate because Mickey leaned down just an inch and pressed his lips to Ian’s. It wasn’t a kiss that sent fireworks off in your head or made your heart explode, it was slow and sad, almost like Mickey was saying goodbye and while it stifled Ian’s crying, he felt even more broken than before.

Then Mickey vanished, leaving a coldness against Ian's skin and the sound of crunching leaves slowly drifted off.

Ian didn't move for a long time.


	7. I Don't Sleep in Dumpsters

Ian wanted to avoid Mandy, ashamed of getting in her family business, but she actively seeked him out and when she finally tracked him down, he was surprised to find out she wasn’t angry in the least.

The first thing she did was hug Ian and reassure him that everything was okay, Ian knew this was bullshit because nothing was okay about what he heard about last night but he held his tongue. He knew she was only trying to protect him and explained that there had been a few incidents in the past, with other boys, and they either ended up in the hospital for life or had to flee the country.

Ian was so angry by all this that he could only nod and say nothing. It was Mandy’s dad, not his. It was her wishes to let it go, not his, but he wanted to scream out how much he hated it all and that he would take her away or that he felt pathetic because even knowing, he couldn’t do shit about it.

She stopped hanging out with other guys for a while and spent more time with Ian, hanging out at his house, going to the movies, just doing things to get their minds off of what happened for a while. He felt so stupid for never asking or getting involved before now, that’s what really hurt.

The rumors at school that the Milkovich kids were just spoiled brats who acted like they were so tough because their daddy bailed them out of trouble when the reality was so much worse, it made Ian sick that he didn’t see it sooner. That Mandy hid behind dark eyeliner that threw herself at guys who were unworthy because her self esteem was probably so low from all the verbal abuse and beatings, she didn’t feel worthy of love anymore.

And then there was Mickey. . .

Ian ducked his head and inhaled deeply. Mickey didn’t show up at school for three days since Ian made his little visit. What really bothered him was the expression on Mickey’s face right before he kissed Ian, the hardness that Ian was used to had crumbled from Mickey’s face.

Another thing he couldn’t understand. Mickey kissed him.

It was in the moment, Ian understood that, and he knew he shouldn’t take it to heart or think too deeply about it, but it still meant something. Maybe it didn’t mean that Mickey had fallen for Ian, no, nothing like that, but it was still important and he couldn’t forget the emotion that poured into him from Mickey after it was all over.

He shook slightly at the thought, sitting on the floor by his bed, and threw his binder across the room with a heavy breath. Before he knew what he was doing, he threw another one and then he dumped his school stuff out of his bag and was throwing all his shit at the wall. When he ran out of things to throw, he just sat there, looking at the mess his violent frenzy caused and tried to catch his breath.

The door swung open and Fiona was standing there, dressed in a waitress outfit for work and she took one look at the floor, then at Ian.

“Ian? What happened?” she asked, her voice worried.

“It’s not fair,” Ian stuttered out, “you ask me if I’m okay when I tear up the room and they can’t even-”

He stopped himself and buried his head into his arms. Fiona was quiet and knelt down to rub his shoulder soothingly.

“Ian? What’s the matter?”

“It’s nothing, Fi. I’m sorry, I just got upset. I’m fine,” he said and he unfolded himself. He didn’t really feel any better though. She looked like she wanted to ask more but decided against it, knowing that if Ian wasn’t talking about it to her yet, he probably wouldn’t for a while.

“I’m heading off to work so could you get some groceries for me?” She asked, sounding worn out.

Ian started picking up the pencils and highlighters and nodded halfheartedly. This was probably the worst time to ask him to do this. Her shift started soon, even though it was almost midnight so he didn’t have a choice.

“I’m sorry, I don’t have money, Ian. Do you have any on you?”

“Yeah, I have enough for some stuff,” Ian lied, it was so natural now. Fiona smiled and after taking one last look at the room, she closed the door on her way out.

He hated lying to her but he knew she wouldn’t support him selling his body and he never wanted her to find out about it. For a while now, he told her all sorts of stories about how he came up with cash and luckily he got pretty good at it. Saying that he got money from helping kids study at school, helping clean some lady’s yard, organizing newspapers at the public library, what a joke.

Ever since the incident at the locker, his business was down, a lot of the guys were afraid of getting seen with him and called gay by association, even if it was true. He couldn’t blame them completely. Not everyone wanted to come out of the closet, especially in high school, too much fear of bullying or rejection from society.

He grabbed a jacket and gave up on cleaning for now. The walk to the store was almost comforting except that he had a slight headache from his earlier outrage and felt sick about what he was about to do for the groceries.

There was Kash, manning the register and upon seeing Ian walk in, he instantly grinned.

Honestly, it wasn’t too bad with Kash at first, Ian didn’t really think age was a big deal, but after a while, it made him start to feel wrong. Kash was not only married but had kids and Ian hated this for them. He didn’t have money though and went straight to the counter with a polite smile, secretly asking some higher deity for forgiveness.

“What’s up, Kash?”

“Ian? I almost didn’t recognize you,” Kash smiled, friendly as ever. He was scouting Ian’s form, not too discreetly, and said, “what can I do for you?”

“Need some food and I’m kind of broke,” Ian shrugged, getting to the chase. He showed Kash his empty pockets. “Help me out?”

“Alright,” Kash nodded and looked around the store to make sure it was empty. Noticing there wasn’t a soul in sight so he came from behind the counter. “How much do you need?”

“Uh, just a few things for the week.”

“I might need a few things for the week too then,” Kash replied, licking his lower lip and Ian bristled. He added, as if he really cared, “If you’re okay with that?”

“That’s cool,” Ian laughed and started going around the store to grab some stuff. Shit, he would have to bang Kash all week just so they could eat. Life was fucking cruel.

Ian filled the basket to the top and slung it on the counter, ready to just get the fuck over with. Kash looked more than ready and made way to lock up so they could have some privacy.

As soon as his key was about to enter the lock, the door opened and there was Mickey, looking straight at Ian as he shoved Kash back into the corner of the counter.

“Let’s fucking go, Ian,” Mickey barked, snatching Ian’s sleeve into his hand. Ian forgot about Kash and the food and could only feel the pressure on his sleeve as Mickey lead him to the door.

“Ian?” Kash called, concerned.

Ian jolted, remembering the groceries and snatched his arm back from Mickey.

“Who’s this?” Kash asked and Mickey whipped his head around to eye him, getting ready to deck the guy but Ian stood between them.

“Stop, Mickey. Just go, okay?”

“You think I don’t fucking know what the fuck’s happening here? You’re transparent,” Mickey spat and Ian looked down.

“I said go, okay? Please, leave, Mickey.”

“I’m not fucking going anywhere because the second I do, you’re going to fuck this sac of shit.”

“So? It’s none of your business,” Ian retorted, a bit more strongly.

Mickey swiped his bottom lip with his thumb and looked around, smiling with wide eyes. “You fucking serious? You want to tell me to stay out of your fucking business? Really?”

“This isn’t a joy ride, it’s survival,” Ian clarified weakly and Mickey grabbed him again, pulling him forward. He looked at Kash and stood almost protectively in front of Ian.

“If you touch him again, this store is going to be a bloodbath.”

Mickey snatched the food basket and Kash did nothing as he dragged Ian out of the store and onto the sidewalk.

“You can’t do that, Mickey!” Ian shouted, moving away from his strong grip for a second time. Mickey looked at Ian and then he tossed the basket on the ground and shoved his hands in his pockets.

“You fuck people for money and food and you tell me I can’t fucking shoplift?”

“No, I mean you can’t just show up and-” he paused and Mickey intercepted his words.

“What? Save your ass? You really wanted to get it on with that creep? If that’s true then don’t let me fucking stop you. Be my fucking guest.”

“It’s the easiest way for now,” Ian shot back and he felt foolish, like Mickey was judging him with his hard, collective stare.

“What? To make money? Just sell drugs like all the other kids.”

Leave it to Mickey to joke in this situation. Normally, Ian would have thought it was funny but he was too upset and shook his head.

“You don’t know what it’s like, Mickey.”

Mickey laughed then, an empty sort of laugh that chilled Ian’s bones.

“I’ve been on the fucking street, in the dead of winter, no blanket, no jacket, just me and the ground and a bottle for company. Don’t fucking lecture me on your hard life when you go home to a bed every night.”

When Ian didn’t respond, Mickey jerked a wad of cash out of his pocket.

“This isn’t out of pity, don’t give me a fucking hard time, got it? This is for food so you don’t have to bang every closeted forty year old on the block.”

He flung the money at Ian who caught it on impulse and slowly flipped through the wad. There were plenty of hundreds, enough to get them food for at least a year and they wouldn’t have to cheap out.

"So you won't take money from your dad to stay in a hotel but you'll steal for me?"

"I didn't steal it," Mickey said, "it's mine.” He stopped and then continued, “Alright, if you wanna get technical it isn't but that piece of shit won't know the difference and it's not the same if I'm giving it away. I don’t feel like I owe him shit if I’m not using it."

Ian stuffed the money into his pocket. He knew that Mickey doing this was a big deal and didn't want to fight him on it.

"Thanks, Mick. You have no idea how much this is going to help. You should steal more from that asshole, you deserve every penny. That way you won't have to sleep in the dumpster."

"Yeah, well," Mickey looked like he was struggling with his words and turned the other way.

Ian could have asked what Mickey was doing, loitering a couple blocks from his house, could've mentioned the other night, even the kiss, but he didn’t and just smiled gratefully, and went off to leave him to his thoughts. He didn’t even make it halfway down the street when he heard Mickey shout after him.

"I don't fucking sleep in dumpsters!"

Then he felt Mickey coming up behind him with an almost bashful expression, his footsteps faltering just a bit as he caught up. Ian didn't hold back his sly smile as Mickey kept up with Ian's pace rather than let there be distance between them.

They stayed in comfortable silence up the stairs of Ian’s house, through the kitchen, and behind the shut door of his room and it wasn’t until Ian crawled in his bed and Mickey laid down lazily on the carpet, that they talked in hushed voices.

Then Ian fell asleep and Mickey stayed awake until the crack of dawn where he could quietly slip out, as unnoticed as he came.

 


	8. Sailboats and Comets

Purple and white strobe lights covered the ceiling of the barn and flashed on the faces of the dancing teenagers below. There were plastic bats and clanky skulls hanging across the entryways and witches, vampires, and zombies staggered in underneath the decorations, rowdy with the excitement of the party.

Tonight, Ian agreed to escort Mandy, who was in a black and purple, glittery dress that hugged her in all the right places. She held onto Ian's arm and pointed out the punch and snacks as soon as they came in.

"You thirsty?" Ian asked, liking this party much better than the last already. The music wasn't ear shattering and there was enough space to actually walk.

“You should already know the answer to that,” Mandy winked and they laughed childishly at the innuendo. Ian never had the luxury of really celebrating Halloween since his neighborhood couldn’t afford enough candy to hand out to all the kids and only got some for their own. They dug through the candy bowls, which apparently had alcohol in them, or at least that’s what they were informed of quietly at the door. The music picked up and Mandy got hyped while she scooped out some alcoholic punch into a cup.

“Where’s that guy you were with before?” Ian asked, sipping on his own punch. She crushed the cup a bit in her hand when she answered.

“He was a bore. I’m moving on to better things.”

Two guys approached the two then and one had his eyes set on Mandy. He was pretty cute but Ian was looking at the brunette at his side.

“Hey,” the blonde one said to Mandy, flashing her a smile. She blushed and after drinking some punch, said, “hello, better thing.”

He looked confused but the two quickly were engrossed in conversation and that left Ian standing awkwardly with the other guy who looked like he wasn’t sure where he was. He figured this guy was straight and didn’t bother flirting but decided casual conversation wouldn’t hurt.

“Hey, you itching to dance? You’re all jumpy.”

The guy jumped, on cue, and grinned. “Actually, I did want to dance. I can show you some stuff if you want.”

“Alright, let’s see it,” Ian said cooly, stepping back, but the guy pointed his thumb towards the crowd of people dancing. Ian blushed and looked around, wondering if he was suggesting what he thought he was.

“What? Don’t want to dance with me or just don’t want to dance?’ the brunette laughed and Ian bowed his head to gulp down on his drink. This guy was attractive and he was coming on to him.  He wasn’t exactly experienced in this kind of thing. It was usually all about doing things behind locked doors.

Ian put the cup down and went with him to the dance floor, which was covered in hay, and he was a little nervous because he wasn’t used to being with someone who wasn’t afraid of flirting with a guy in public. It could have just been a friendly offer but the guy had a mischievous grin that said it was more than that.

At first they kind of danced lightly, in their own space and Ian eventually relaxed when he realized nobody was really watching them. It wasn’t that he minded attention but he wasn’t sure if this guy really wanted any drawn to them. Then again, the way he was dancing now, was bringing some looks from a group of girls nearby and Ian kind of swayed, impressed by how good the guy was dancing too.

The song changed and he stopped dancing to move closer to Ian, asking for permission with his eyes. Ian looked around nervously, knowing he wasn’t such a great dancer but then the adrenaline from the music trickled into him and his body moved on its own. It was a rush being surrounded by people now and Ian found he could actually dance when he really got hyped. Dancing with this cute brunette was the most fun he had in months.

The rise of energy dwindled down when the song switched and the two of them were still hopping from the high, now rushing out of the crowd for more to drink. He saw Mandy and the blonde kid chatting at the wall and she actually looked really interested in what he was saying. Good for her, Ian thought, thinking it was awesome that she was actually having a decent conversation with a guy instead of the usual hook up.

“Told you I could dance,” the brunette smirked and handed Ian his punch. “Didn’t know you could though.”

Ian smiled sheepishly and downed the entire cup of alcohol with a hearty shout and everyone was pumping their fists as the next song picked up and the dance floor got even fuller.

“Wanna go again?” the guy asked.

“Yeah, okay,” Ian agreed and the two went out for another round.

The night went in the blink of an eye and Ian was tired from all the dancing. He stumbled out of the crowd to a spot by the wall so he could take a moment to rest. The brunette was still having fun without him though so Ian didn’t feel like he left him hanging.

His heart was racing still and it was kind of nice doing something like this. The alcohol was strong in his system but it was mostly making him dizzy and giddy because he accidently giggled a little too loud when a girl dressed as a slutty nurse walked by. She paid him no attention though when he covered his mouth to suppress more of the oncoming laughter.

Ian shuffled through the room for a bit, feeling sort of lost, and stumbled across the goons that were friends of Mickey’s, the ones that called him a ginger that day under the tree. He felt weirdly happy to see them, mostly because of the alcohol, but also because there was someone he knew.

“Hey guys!” Ian waved and they all looked confused as hell when they saw him.

“The fuck do you want?”

Ian kicked at some of the hay under his foot and shrugged like a kid.

“Just saying hey.”

“Yo, that’s the ginger that Mickey was hanging with. I remember him,” one said and Ian stifled a laugh. The guy was suddenly in front of him and staring him down.

“The fuck is so funny?”

“You guys are too old to be here,” Ian cackled and the one with the beard grabbed a handful of his shirt and got in his face.

“What the fuck did you say?”

The man wasn’t in front of Ian anymore and Ian smiled, in a daze, not knowing really what was happening. All he knew was that Mickey was there now, pushing the man away and they were grumbling offensive things to each other but it ultimately ended with Mickey leading Ian away, through the sea of people, and outside.

Ian was still smiling joyfully, once they were standing outside, even when Mickey turned around and looked at him with shadowy eyes. He didn’t look happy to say the least.

“It’s a party,” Ian puffed out, feeling defensive all of a sudden. Mickey didn’t have a right to judge him. “I carried you two blocks when you were drunk,” he whined and then broke into a fit of laughter. He was way more drunk than he thought. Mickey still looked grim but was thoughtful before he spoke.

“I’m gonna take you home,” he decided and Ian furrowed his brows and shook his head, moving back.

“I’m having fun, Mick.”

“Party’s over, I’m taking you home.”

“No, I was dancing and having fun. I don’t know why you’re saying that,” Ian mumbled childishly. Mickey rubbed his face and seemed frustrated when all of a sudden he reached out and grabbed Ian’s hand.

“You had too many, Ian, let’s get you to sleep.”

“You drink!” Ian cried, his voice getting louder. “You get drunk! I can do it too!”

“No, it’s not the same. You’ll let yourself get dragged off by some creep.”

Ian pulled his hand out of Mickey’s and he felt himself tearing up. Why did he always have to cry around Mickey?

“You don’t know anything! You can’t just push me away all the time and then pretend you fucking care!”

Ian ran back inside before he could let Mickey react and it was all a blur around him, the people, Mandy’s voice, and then the guy he was dancing with earlier was talking to him.

He didn’t need Mickey worrying about him, not when he wasn’t allowed to do the same back.

When Ian woke up, he was shirtless. At first he didn’t remember anything but it slowly came back when he saw a head of brown hair poking out from under the sheets next to him. Oh shit.

He was in an unfamiliar room and that made him feel a bit sick. He sat up and checked to make sure he had pants on, at least he had his boxers, and then he carefully removed himself from the bed. With all the guys he had sex with it was never an overnight thing, especially not in a five star hotel looking bed.

He found his pants thrown over a desk chair in the corner and pulled them on before he rubbed his throbbing temples. Damn, it really was stupid to get that wasted and he ended up fucking a stranger because of it.

“Hey,” the guy in the bed yawned out and he gave a thumbs up before groaning and burying himself back under the covers.

Ian wasn’t sure where to go from here. Did he try to wake him up to say bye? Did he just leave? Ian didn’t even know where he was right now so he went to shake the guy awake.

“Hey, where the hell am I?”

“My house,” the guy mumbled groggily and turned over.

“Okay? Where exactly is your house?”

The guy didn’t respond and fell back asleep with a snore. Ian sighed and pulled his tennis shoes on and then his shirt which was poking out from under the bed. He crept through the house, not sure what to expect, and it seemed nobody else was around so he left through the front door unscathed.

He scanned the streets for anything familiar and found a sign. Okay, good, he knew where he was at at least, it was only a train ride away from his house.

The train ride gave him time to think about what happened. He had the time of his life last night dancing and drinking. The problem was that while most of the after sex was coming back to him, he couldn’t remember if he even liked it. Did he even like the guy?

Ian leaned his head on the window and sighed. It was funny. He never really thought about if he liked the guys he slept with before now.

That was when he remembered yelling at Mickey. Mickey was trying to take him home, for his own safety, and Ian lashed out. That was such an asshole thing to do. He wished he had his phone number or something so he could apologize for being a jerk.

He looked at his watch when the train stopped and hopped off. It was almost noon and if he really wanted to, he could take a trip to the Milkovich house to say sorry in person.

How would Mickey react if he did? Get pissed and throw him out again?  Ian felt a surge of bitterness, thinking about that. He couldn’t blame Mandy and Mickey for the way their dad was but it still pissed him off to no end.

Rather than ride the train across town to the Milkovich mansion, Ian swung around and descended the railing, stopping in front of the little coffee shop at the other end of the road. It was one of the nicer stores in the area and it wasn’t too expensive either.

He felt guilt wash over him when he pulled the money out that Mickey gave him and flipped through it so he could get a hot chocolate. It didn’t do much for the hangover but his belly felt better when the thick, warm liquid drained down his throat and hit the spot.

He wondered if he should just go crash at home and sleep for a while or maybe get ready for the exam in Calculus coming up but something told Ian that this was his day off.

He finished the chocolate drink and threw the cup out, waving bye to the old lady at the register on his way out. What could he do next? He never really took time to himself, not to sightsee the city, or do anything really fun in his free time.

The streets were hardly crowded this afternoon and the air was warm even though the sky looked cold. For now, he wanted to spend a little money, since he gave almost all of it to Fiona. After all, he was the one that had to bang guys to keep up the bills for years. Not that Fiona didn’t do the same thing at some point.

The arcade was open and lucky for Ian, it was as desolate as the streets. He popped in some change on the machines and played for a couple hours until he got bored. After a few monster shooters, he left and wandered more. There wasn’t much that caught his eye and he kind of wished he had someone to enjoy his day with.

Mandy was probably sleeping in that blonde guy’s bed and sadly, he didn’t have really any other friends. It was pretty pathetic, to go through three years of high school, and have one person to think of spending a free Sunday with. 

It was getting dusk now and Ian chose to give up soul searching for the time being and head home. When he neared his house, he felt pretty solemn about the drunk sex and fight, not knowing exactly how to fix it.

As if God heard what he was thinking, there was Mickey, sitting on the street corner, smoking a cigarette.

His hair was messy and soft looking under the warm tones of the sun. The light shone behind him, making the wispy smoke from his lips look like it was glowing, and his shadow stretched out until it was lost somewhere in the concrete.

Seeing him like that was like watching a movie, it was something breathtaking, something you weren’t supposed to see in real life, and Ian’s footsteps slowed on their own..

When Mickey turned his head, they looked at each other and the wind blew through Mickey’s unruly hair, tempting. Ian’s footsteps became more upbeat until he was standing on the asphalt, in front of where Mickey was slouched.

It was all on impulse, like he was on autopilot and someone else was controlling him. He reached down and let his fingers brush against that feathery hair, satisfied that it was even softer than it looked, and when Mickey started to stand, he jerked his hand back with a flush.

Mickey didn’t look furious though, instead, he threw the smoke to the sidewalk and then he grabbed the hand that was just stroking his hair, and brought Ian down the street without a word. Part of Ian felt worried because a quiet Mickey was almost as bad as a shouting Mickey. But the hand holding his own was gentle that Ian trusted him.

He wasn’t sure how much time went without them speaking but he was taken into the woods, away from the bustling neighborhood. They walked for a while, the only sound being rustling tree leaves that were now turning fiery orange and brittle from the changing to fall.

Mickey came to a stop but he didn’t let go of Ian’s hand. Puzzled, Ian waited patiently for something to happen and after a moment, Mickey took in a deep breath and turned around.

There was a single glance from him, his crystal eyes looking up briefly, before his free hand fell lightly on Ian’s waist, touching so delicately that he was almost not touching Ian at all, and his other hand quivered a bit in Ian’s when he gripped just a little more but let the contact remain loose. The pulse in Ian’s hand started to beat beneath the place where their palms were touching and the beating got stronger as it followed up his arm and down to his waist.

Ian’s eyes flickered to Mickey’s face after he looked at their intertwined fingers but he couldn’t seem to find his voice. Mickey wasn’t looking at him anymore, his eyes were lowered and he stepped back slowly, pulling Ian gently with him.

There was a brief moment where Ian was bewildered but he stayed silent, letting whatever this was supposed to be happen. Ian kept watching for a change in Mickey’s face but it was hard to discern, especially since Mickey was so focused.

Mickey stepped forward then, moving Ian steadily back a step and then he moved to the side and lead Ian with him, turning him smoothly. Ian was unsure at first of how to respond but he just went with whatever Mickey was doing. Then he stepped again, bringing Ian along and the heaviness in Ian's footsteps started to get lighter and he thought for a moment that he was floating as they moved.

It felt like they were moving on clouds, enclosed in golden light that shimmered across the tree branches and even though the forest was withering in the October air, which was abnormally warm, everything was more alive than before.

The sun was setting behind the silhouette of the forest and they glided across the Earth, Ian getting better at keeping up with Mickey’s strides. Their breathing was shallow and then heavy and then sharp, all changing to their movements.

Mickey’s hand was settled more securely on Ian’s side now and Ian was the one to close the little space between their joined hands, pressing his skin into Mickey’s which were calliced from a lifetime of playing guitar.

While Mickey looked pretty placid, his arms were trembling slightly with each brush of their bodies and he was careful not to get near Ian too much during their shifts. It was a long time of flowing together, like sailboats on the ocean, going with the wind, or comets trailing through the galaxy. It was natural and free, like gravity wasn’t tying them down anymore.

Eventually, Ian stepped forward to be closer to Mickey, breaking the rhythm they had. He breathed in Mickey and held tighter, letting his eyes open slightly so he could really look at him.

Mickey froze and finally met his eyes. He appeared to be woken from a dream as Ian lowered their linked hands, not letting them disconnect.

The faint rays of light flooding in through the foliage touched them and then dwindled darker, along with the sun. The sky was eclipsing into peach and auburn but Ian only cared about the glassy eyes in front of him and the emotion hidden there.

Mickey wasn’t as breathless as Ian but he seemed more fatigued as he broke the silence.

“That,” Mickey murmured, averting his eyes once more, “is a real dance.”

Ian felt the warmth of Mickey’s touch linger on his skin and clothes even after the other pulled away and he looked almost apologetic as he left, disappearing in the shadows of the trees

Ian didn’t move because he was too stunned, his heart was pounding too fast, or maybe it was because he had to readjust to moving on the ground again instead of on air. He pressed his fingers into his side, where Mickey had touched, and he finally exhaled.

**  
  
**


	9. Light Me Up

Ian tapped nervously against his arm. He had a presentation for French class in less than an hour and after practicing in the mirror, he still felt like he was going to fail.

Mandy had to cut out of lunch early to meet up with the guy she was going steady with, the blonde from the Halloween party. Ian didn’t mind much and convinced himself that his true love right now was this textbook anyways.

He decided to go outside where it was less crowded to hit the books and mumble the lines of his upcoming speech to himself, tripping over a couple words and feeling even worse about his French accent. After a few more trail runs, he dropped his book, defeated.

“Hey, Ginger!”

He recognized that voice, it was one of the goons that hung out with Mickey. When he raised his head, he found the goons, standing around under the dogwood tree, circling Mickey who was sitting down in the grass.

“What the fuck you calling him for?” Mickey asked, his brows furrowing.

The guy who yelled out to Ian looked down at him and Ian just didn’t understand why the hell these grown men were trespassing over school property to hang out with someone in high school. 

“I wanted to hear your little boyfriend’s opinion,” the man smirked, cracking his knuckles.

“I think you just wanted to hear your own fucking voice,” Mickey sneered and Ian wasn’t sure if he should go back to his book or not.

“Come here, kid,” one of the guys beckoned and Mickey looked at Ian, awaiting his next move, but he quickly looked away when Ian packed his stuff and walked across the lawn to the tree. He was amused at how Mickey was trying to pretend like he didn’t really care that Ian was there now.

“What?” Ian asked dryly and raised a brow at the one that wouldn’t stop with the ginger thing.

“How long you known this guy?” he said, striking a thumb at Mickey who rolled his eyes.

“I don’t know. Not too long, I guess. Why?” Ian answered, slightly curious to where this was leading.

“This bastard thinks that he isn’t addicted to cigarettes,” the guy explained and the other two men sniggered. Ian studied them for a minute.

One had greasy black hair to his back and was dressed in biker clothes. The other had a few face piercings and was all bones, no fat whatsoever. The one talking to Ian was dark skinned with dyed hair, a dark red fading into black.

“He’s a fucking addict,” Ian agreed and they all looked down at Mickey who laughed.

“Ha! See, he fucking doesn’t know shit like I said he wouldn’t.”

Ian smiled even though it was an insult and all of them watched as Mickey took a cigarette from his pants pocket, freezing before it went to his lips.

“Don’t know what I’m talking about, huh?” Ian asked smugly and Mickey crushed the paper and ash in his hand. He flew up from where he was sitting and moved his friends aside so he was face to face with Ian now.

“Alright, let’s make a little wager.”

Ian crossed his arms and nodded with a grin because Mickey was just, he didn’t know how to describe it, but he loved when Mickey got riled up, “Okay, what kind of wager?”

“Well you can’t keep your dick in your pants for more than a day, isn’t that right?” he asked, bunting the fallen cigarette with his foot.

Ian’s eyes darted to Mickey’s crew but none of them seemed very affected by what was said so he tilted his eyes down to Mickey and said, “What’s the bet? That I’ll stick it in you if you quit smoking? Sounds like a good way to quit cold turkey but what am I getting out of it?”

Mickey looked slightly amused and cocked his head.

“Let’s pretend you aren’t a conceited fucker for a second so we can move on. The bet is that you can’t fuck for a week, no touching guys at all, and I can’t light up for a week. Whoever cracks first is the loser.”

“No sex,” Ian mouthed and then he laughed. “I’m so fucking screwed, I might as well give up now. I’m sure your addiction won’t flare up in the next few minutes or anything.”

“We’ll see, bitch,” Mickey retorted but he looked like he was excited and brushed by Ian, his boys followed, not even bothering to make any comments.

 

It was already twenty four hours since the bet with Mickey and Ian didn’t have an urge in his body to get some skin. He was perfectly fine with all the worries of classes, he didn’t really have the luxury of having a lot of sex right now anyways. Besides, he didn’t fuck because he especially liked it, it was always for money. Well, most of the time.

There were some hot guys from hot nights he wouldn't mind meeting up with right now. It was true that he liked the feeling of sex, it wasn’t exactly unwanted or anything, but he could just jerk himself for the week and be good.

It was lunch hour again and Mandy had to go to the library for some quiz she missed. Ian liked that she actually cared about her grades  most of the time and that she didn’t want to mooch off of her dad forever.

Being alone, Ian went to look for Mickey and he wasn’t surprised to find him perched in the courtyard tree.

Ian leaned down and pet his guitar case, like it was an old friend, and then he raised his JROTC cap so he could see Mickey. It was the most comical shit he saw all day. Mickey had a paddle ball and he was bouncing it, following it with his eyes and Ian wondered how that wasn’t giving him a headache.

“Whatcha doin' there, Mick?”

Mickey ignored him and just kept hitting the red ball up and down on the wooden panel, concentrating much harder than he needed to.

“Distracting yourself, huh? It’s that bad?” Ian asked and then he took Mickey’s guitar out and started messing with it but Mickey still didn’t flinch.

 

It was Wednesday, the third day of the bet, and Ian was on the way to class when one of the good looking guys on the baseball team ran into him.

“Oh, hey, Ian,” the baseball player greeted and he kind of stopped to look at Ian’s shirt that was clinging tightly to his toned arms and torso. Ian was used to this kind of attention and just smiled back at him.

“Hey, man.”

This guy was openly gay, that much Ian remembered, so he couldn’t help but like him. Also the fact that he was easy on the eyes.

“It’s been awhile since we talked, man,” the guy said suggestively and then he leaned his arm on the lockers. “You wanna hang out sometime?”

By hang out, of course he meant bang.

“Sorry, can’t do right now. I’m not booked next week though.”

“Oh, you’re a hard guy to get. Alright, book me for next week then,” he laughed and before he walked off said, “I’m looking forward to it.”

Okay, that was kind of hard to do. Part of him wished he wasn’t doing the bet with Mickey because he just missed a good fuck. He could easily do it behind Mickey's back but there's no way he would break the trust he's been trying so hard to build up. It was cute, seeing Mickey get so into this bet too. 

Man, that baseball player would have been good though.

 

Thursday rolled around and it was after school when Ian saw Mickey waiting at the entrance. He appeared anxious, nervous even, and he was kind of looking around rapidly.

Ian snuck up behind him and touched his hip, making sure to dodge Mickey’s arm that swung out. When Mickey’s eyes focused on Ian hunched over laughing, he straightened up in irritation.

“The fuck, man? Cut that shit out,” he snapped and itched his neck.

“Are you chewing gum?” Ian asked, not even hiding his ulterior motive. Mickey said nothing and chewed more subtly now, irked.

“I’m not fucking going home so I’m heading to your house,” Mickey stated, demanded rather, and stormed off.

“Whatever you want, your majesty,” Ian smirked and trotted after him.

Once they got to Ian’s room, Mickey was rubbing his wrists aggressively and spat the gum into the garbage, only to put in another stick in frustration.

Ian lofted on his bed, with his Chemistry textbook and smiled at how this all turned around on the poor guy. As his eyes scanned over his textbook, Mickey just started rambling and pacing.

“Heat, gas pressure, electron charge,” Mickey mumbled in short breaths and some other stuff Ian couldn’t catch. Ian leaned on his elbow and smiled up at him.

“Hey, crazy, can you help me with this one?”

Mickey practically ran across the room and leaned over to look down at the book. He read it in seconds and returned to his pacing.

“It’s ethanol, no double bond on the oxygen,” he drawled out, like he was disappointed, and then he started to mess with Carl’s stuff, flipping all the garbage on the bed around to examine it.

“Thanks,” Ian laughed and went through more problems. He stretched out and laid his head down on the text book, scribbling notes as he read.

“A smoke might make you relax,” Ian reminded as Mickey began juggling some of Carl’s switch blades. if it weren’t for the fact that they were closed, Ian would have intervened.

“Who fucking needs that? There are so many things to do that are just so much fucking better!”

The cheeriness of his voice was starting to scare Ian now and he pushed his textbook aside and put a hand under his chin to watch Mickey’s hyper state.

“You’re trying to win a bet, not do crack, man.”

“Fuck you.”

“Okay. Come fuck me so you can win,” Ian suggested, delighted when Mickey dropped the knives. He glared at Ian.

“I’m not that desperate.”

“Really? Looks that way from over here.”

“Fuck off.”

“You know, we didn’t even decide what the loser has to do,” Ian said and turned over on his back, tapping mindlessly on the wall. Mickey switched gum again and drifted in front of Ian’s bed.

“You’re pretty set on winning so shouldn’t you get a reward? Not that you’ll be getting it,” Ian yawned out and then he glanced over at Mickey who was staring intensely at him.

“Fine, asshole. What do you want to give me?”

“Oh,” Ian beamed, “You really couldn’t have asked a better question.”

“I told you to cut that shit out.”

“What shit? Gay shit?” Ian laughed and Mickey squinted.

“That come on shit. Save it for those pricks you bang.”

“Do you like dudes, Mick?” Ian inquired, truly curious now. Mickey seemed taken back by the sudden question and tucked his arms over his chest defensively.

“Fuck off.”

That wasn’t a no, Ian thought, and he felt really happy all of a sudden.

“Okay, let me think of a prize.”

Ian pondered over things both of them might want if they won but it was hard to come up with anything at the top of his head. Mickey didn’t look like he was even helping to think of an idea. Cash or anything buyable was out of question. What kind of things did Mickey care about besides music and reading?

Before he could come up with something, Mickey spoke.

“If you lose, you stop fucking strangers.”

Ian sat up and his eyes widened, his pulse elevated, and he didn’t even understand why.

“Kash wasn’t a stranger,” he said defensively, interested in why Mickey cared at all. 

“That’s not-” Mickey paused and unfolded his arms. “That guy you were dancing with the other night? You went off and screwed him, right? Dumb ass fucking move if you ask me.”

Was Mickey mad about that? Was that why he danced with him in the forest? Ian didn’t know what to think and his voice came out, sounding like somebody else.

“So? Sex is sex, who cares?”

It sounded so monotonous that Ian couldn't believe he said it.

Maybe it was because he grew up around Monica and Frank who didn’t know how to stop shoving their tongues down each other’s throats. The accidental walk ins on Veronica and Kevin fucking and Fiona with her guys. Everyone had sex. There wasn’t anything special about it so why was Mickey making it such a big deal?

Mickey didn’t answer and before Ian knew what happened, Mickey’s knee pressed into the mattress by his thigh and he was leaning over him. His arm was resting by Ian’s head and he was blinking down, cold and somber. Ian could feel his heart speeding up even more than it already was and his body went rigid under the unwavering gaze.

“If I win you can’t screw around anymore,” Mickey said softly.

Ian breathed in and then he retreated a bit from the advance, embarrassed. What the hell was Mickey doing? His fingers dug into the bed sheet a bit and his side was touching the wall because Mickey was cornering him.

“Fine,” Ian shot and then he said in as steady of a breath as he could muster, “If I win, I get to sleep over at your house.”

Mickey went silent, leaning down to blow faintly on Ian’s ear who shuddered in response and looked up at Mickey through half lidded eyes. 

“If you touch a guy, you lose,” Mickey continued slowly and leaned back just enough to look at him.

“You’re a fucking cheater,” Ian whispered, realizing this all had to do with the bet. 

“If you win then you can stay over,” Mickey smirked, acknowledging Ian's wager. Ian’s eyes widened then.

“Seriously?”

“If you win,” Mickey reiterated, coming back down to graze his lips casually across Ian’s neck and over his adam’s apple. Ian’s skin was flushing under the contact and he closed his eyes, clutching the bed sheets to prevent himself from touching Mickey.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Ian breathed out. “You’re plan to make me stop fucking guys is to give in and fuck you?”

“There you go, always thinking about fucking,” Mickey growled. “You really don’t give a shit about who or why you fuck, huh?”

Ian went quiet and those words did circles in his head. He opened his eyes and looked up at Mickey who looked dead serious about what he said. Ian could feel himself sinking into the bed and his arms and legs went heavy.

“What do you mean?”

“Do you actually feel anything, Ian?” Mickey asked angrily and backed off. “When you touch someone? When someone touches you? Do you feel anything from it?”

Ian was dumbfounded, unable to respond. Then something came over him and he reached out and touched Mickey’s face.

It was like electricity going through his fingertips, down into his stomach, which was flipping in on itself, and he felt warm and euphoric. It was some confusing, messy feeling to touch Mickey. Something that he never experienced before now, that was for sure.

“I guess not usually,” Ian answered honestly and Mickey shrugged away from the touch and was off the bed then. Suddenly, Ian felt that sensation of panic that sometimes rose around Mickey, the unexplainable urge to cry was starting to kick in.

“What about you? You’re no better,” Ian countered, humiliated. “You have no problem kissing and slow dancing, fucking leading me on, do you?”

He leaped up and got in Mickey’s space, his face heating up.

“You want to look down on me for banging a lot of guys but you can do what you want with someone’s feelings and brush it off?”

‘I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”

“Oh yeah because friends do this kind of thing all the time, don’t they?”

Mickey looked like he was going to get hostile but his aggression died and he fled to the door, muttering, “Bet’s off,” before he slammed it behind him.

At first Ian stood there in that frozen state that was caused by the mixed emotions Mickey stirred up inside of him. This time though, he grabbed the door and rushed down the stairs. The warm air outside was refreshing and under the noon sky, he could see Mickey walking off, already almost a block down the street. 

He chased after him, noticing how Mickey's shoulders were slumped, how his footsteps were quick but weak, and how he was already trying to light a cigarette.

When Ian caught up with him, he didn't even know how to begin to describe what he wanted to get out. He didn't even know why he chased after him really in the first place. All he knew is that he pushed Mickey away, hurt him somehow, and he didn't want that. 

"I'm sorry," Ian blurted, running to a stop in front of Mickey who was still fumbling with the lighter. Mickey rose his eyes and the glow from the lighter flame flickered in front of them. 

"You don't have to fucking apologize," Mickey answered, letting the fire die. 

"Obviously, I pissed you off."

"Forget about it. You didn't do shit wrong."

Ian listened but he was confused even more than before. 

"Why are you leaving, then?"

"It's my own fucking problem, got it? I need to smoke."

Knowing that wasn't the only reason, Ian shook his head. Mickey distanced himself, like he always did, as soon as Ian tried to make sense of what was happening between them. There was an unclear bond forming, which Mickey was too stubborn to talk about and Ian was going crazy over. 

"Okay," Ian uttered weakly because he didn't have a right to force anything out of the other.

He should have known he couldn't, not after finding out that Mickey and Mandy both had trust issues, beyond quick repair because of their dad. He was close to Mandy now, sometimes he still felt like she didn't open up, but that was after years of work and he coudln't expect Mickey to talk about feelings and emotions overnight. 

Maybe that's what Mickey meant when he said it was his own problem. 

"Just a little longer," Ian protested gently and he put his fingers on Mickey's own, the ones that were about to relight.

That could have meant a lot of things. Just a little longer until you open up to me. Just a little longer until you can trust me. Just a little longer until you tell me what we are to each other. Instead he went with, "I won't have sex so don't smoke for just a little longer, okay?"

Then it was odd, instead of getting shoved back or an earful of strong language, Mickey handed the lighter to Ian without a second thought and his voice was almost shaky when he answered.

"Okay."


	10. Warmth

It was hard to do homework when the rain was creating such a calming white noise outside. Ian kept drifting off, in and out of notetaking, and it was starting to take a toll on his body. There was no lightning or thunder, just the thudding of water against the roof and windows.

He let his eyes slide shut for the millionth time and his head drooped. He jerked it back up and stood because a good soda might wake him up.

Once in the kitchen, he popped open a can and gurgled all of the liquid down, not minding the burn too much because it was waking him up, and then he tossed the can into the trash. Thinking FIona didn’t need anything to deal with when she got off work, Ian grabbed the garbage and tied it before heading out into the rain. He threw his hood on and went to the street to put the full bag into the garbage bin.

The rain wasn’t so cold and it felt kind of nice on Ian’s face when he squinted up into the murky sky. There were gray clouds for miles, like a blanket of smoke over the Earth.

When he lowered his head, he could make out a shadow coming towards him in the distance. It was misty, kind of hard to see, and his first instinct was to go lock the door because there was a chance it was his deadbeat father. It was sad to take a robber over Frank any day.

He backed up to the house and then stopped with his hand lingering on the doorknob when the figure was more in focus.

“Mick?” Ian called out but it was drowned out by the rain.

Mickey was dressed only in a black tank top and ripped jeans and it wasn’t until he drew closer that Ian understood why his arms were bare. His jacket was bundled in his arms, against his chest, and Ian was only more confused now. As Mickey’s shoes hit the pavement and then grass, he was breathing heavily and lifted his face.

In that moment, Ian never saw him look so lost and desperate. Mickey didn’t say anything and Ian moved aside so he could go into the house. Ian shut the door and followed Mickey to the living room.

“Hold her,” Mickey ordered and he handed the scrunched up jacket over carefully, like it was made of glass.

Ian looked down in confusion and when the jacket was in his arms, it was weighted and inside the cloth was a damp kitten, curled up and eyes closed. There was blood along it’s back and it was shivering violently. Mickey was gone when Ian looked back up.

When Mickey returned, he had a large towel. He took the cat from Ian and removed her from the wet jacket so he could rub along her fur gently. The cat made no sound and  shook as Mickey dried her. Ian watched Mickey press the towel against the bloody areas of her fur and wipe it away, his eyes never tearing away from the animal.

“It’s injured?” Ian asked tentatively, a little afraid of breaking Mickey’s concentration but unable to hold back anymore.

Mickey finished cleaning her up and then wrapped her securely in a second towel, a clean one that he had under his arm, and the way he folded it neatly and protectively around her showed that this wasn’t his first time dealing with this kind of thing.

“It’s my blood,” Mickey answered simply, emotionless. That’s when Ian remembered a long time ago, Mickey mentioned having a cat at home. This must be it.

Ian wanted to ask what happened but he just went with, “You’re hurt?”

Mickey rocked the cat for a few minutes in silence and Ian never saw him look that way at anything before. Not at Ian. Not at his guitar. Never did he look so passionate and devoted like he did then.

It didn’t take a genius to guess that something horrible went down at the house or else Mickey wouldn’t be here with this precious part of his life. Ian felt sort of sad, looking at it that way. This was just another dark corner of Mickey’s heart that he would never be allowed to touch and that was too much for him.

Mickey wouldn't say he was hurt. Mickey wouldn't break down or admit that some terrible storm was inside of him right now. No, he would just stay quiet and deal with it by himself. 

He left Mickey there on the couch, making excuses to himself not to go back downstairs. He brushed his teeth, washed his face, and tidied the room, knowing there was no way he could focus on studying now. After another few minutes of some needed breathing, he went back to the living room, his body moving on auto pilot.

Mickey finally looked away from the bundle in his arms to look at Ian.

“Do you need anything?” Ian asked slowly, not sure if he was pushing or not. A question like that shouldn’t even be something he had to worry about but with Mickey it wasn’t that cut and dry. He was afraid that he would get too close and they would burn each other so he stayed still on the edge of the last step and his fingers clutched the railing, ready to run.

That sorrow Ian saw in the man’s eyes seconds ago was now replaced with something more solid and hard, something Ian was more used to seeing. It was that sharp gaze that made Ian forget all of the warm, gentle things Mickey did.

“Can I sleep here?” Mickey asked and his voice was like stone.

Ian just nodded, not knowing what else he could say. His eyes traced Mickey’s bare skin and he found the blood on his knuckles, the torn flesh on his hand, the cuts on his arms.

He wondered if his dad did it. Probably, he thought, studying the marks. The slash marks looked like they were made from the cat though but the kitten didn't look injured, just cold and wet.

Ian didn’t try to care for Mickey, not the way Mickey was caring for the cat. Ian didn’t ask him if he needed a blanket or if he wanted bandages for his hand and he didn’t ask him if he needed some warm clothes or anything to dry off with because he knew what the answer would be.

He retreated to his bedroom, knowing that Mickey would stay on the couch, and he shut the door and crawled into his bed. It was times like this he was glad Carl never stayed home lately.

The rain wasn’t soothing anymore. It sounded the same, falling just as hard as before, but it felt harsh, like it was going to break through the walls.

 

Ian’s eyes snapped open, not realizing he had fallen asleep. The rain outside was still pouring but it wasn’t as dark as before. His eyes were on the wall, his back to the door that was subtly creaking open and he could hear light footsteps enter, the door shutting softly.

Ian didn’t move or turn around while he listened to Mickey’s faint breathing.

It was hard to tell what was going on but after a moment all went quiet. Ian finally twisted around, just enough to make out Mickey’s curled up form on the floor.

The blood on his hands and arms was dry and even though his clothes were still damp, his skin wasn’t wet anymore. The kitten was asleep against his stomach in it’s blanket, it’s chest rising and falling with Mickey’s own. Mickey was petting it and his eyes were opened slightly, staring into the emptiness beneath Carl’s bed.

Eventually, the light outside grew brighter and Ian kept staring at the wall, unable to sleep anymore. He didn’t know if Mickey was still awake or not but his question was answered when Mickey shifted suddenly.

This was it. This was the part where Mickey slipped out. He always left without saying goodbye, always while Ian slept. Part of Ian wished that Mickey would try to wake him or at least whisper something to him in the dark of the morning before he left. But he never did.

He let his eyes fall shut again when he heard the creak of the floorboard and he knew Mickey left.

It was on accident and Ian didn’t really expect it when it happened but air creeped into his throat and he let out a whimper. Then another one and even though he tried to hold his breath, another one came shortly after.

Ian grew up being told it was okay to cry and Mickey most likely didn’t. That’s just how it was, he knew that. But why did it hurt so much to look into Mickey’s anguished eyes and know that the tears wouldn’t come? Mickey was in pain but he wouldn’t cry and he wouldn’t talk about it, wouldn’t let anyone take care of it. That hurt so fucking much.

Ian’s tears trickled down. He sniffed and gasped when he felt the mattress sink behind him.

“Shut the fuck up, okay?” Mickey breathed out from behind him. He didn’t sound angry, he sounded worried, caring.

Ian didn’t turn around, not even when he felt Mickey’s warmth close to him and could feel Mickey was laying down only inches away. He still didn’t turn around when Mickey’s fingers traced lightly into his hair, against the back of his neck, and down his back. It was brief and Ian wasn’t even sure if it really happened.

The tears stopped falling when Mickey tangled a hand into the back of his shirt, squeezed tightly for just a moment, and then the grip loosened but the hand didn’t leave this time.

The light from the window stretched out further into the room and Ian could feel something tiny and warm curl up into his back against the spot where Mickey’s hand was and he heard a soft purring. The cat sounded okay and not too long after, Mickey was breathing evenly.

He was probably getting the covers damp but Ian didn't care. He knew Mickey didn't want to talk about anything, at least not right now. Maybe being near Ian was comfort enough. Like how the kitten curled up into Mickey's warmth earlier because that's what it needed the most.

Feeling brave, Ian tilted his head back to catch a glimpse of Mickey's face.

Mickey's arm was outstretched enough to hold onto Ian's shirt and his eyelashes were fluttered against his cheeks, the lines of worry and anger and frustration were wiped from his face, which was angled just barely into the pillow. The kitten was asleep against Mickey's hand and it was pressed into Ian's back. He smiled fondly at the both of them. 

It was the first time he ever saw Mickey sleep.

 


	11. Scars and Guitars

The morning was chilly and the leaves were almost nonexistent on the trees now. The cafeteria felt dreary because of the mood set by the gloomy sky outside.

Ian took a bite out of the sandwich in Mandy’s hand and then he started talking mid-chew.

“What I’m saying is that your boyfriend sounds like a prick, based on the last ten minutes of what I just heard about him.”

“He’s not too bad,” Mandy shrugged and she finished the sandwich, wiping her hands on her pants. “He’s hot.”

“Yeah, but you just said he grabbed another girl’s ass. I thought you couldn’t stand that kind of shit.”

“We’re not that serious,” she muttered. Ian sighed and got up from his seat.

“I don’t know why you like guys like that,” he said gruffly and Mandy clicked her tongue. He was worried about her more than usual, knowing that she was developing feelings for this guy. How could he convince her that she deserved better?

When the bell rang and the two crossed the courtyard to class, Mickey approached them.

“What the fuck do you want?” Mandy grimaced and Mickey stuck his middle finger up at her.

“Are you free tonight?” Mickey asked and Ian stuffed his hands in his pockets, glancing around while they talked. He wondered why Mandy wasn’t answering and looked back, finding Mickey was raising an eyebrow at him impatiently.

“Me?” he stuttered and Mandy looked just as surprised. Mickey gave him that ‘are you fucking kidding me’ look.

“No, fucking princess here.”

“Fuck you,” Mandy sneered but she was looking at them in interest. Ian wondered what she was thinking. He started to give an answer but Mickey cut him off.

“You’re free. I’m coming by at six.”

He left then and Mandy was staring at Ian, waiting for some explanation, but he just hunched his shoulders and let them fall, pretending to be confused when he was really excited inside.

 

Ian didn’t touch his bag when he got home. He forgot all about the homework and grabbed a bowl of milk to bring upstairs.

When he locked the door behind him, he searched the room with his eyes and found Mickey’s cat purring in the corner. She looked comfortable so he just brought the bowl to where she was laying out. How Mickey got him to take care of this fur ball he had no idea.

It was still pretty early but Ian kept thinking about what Mickey needed him to be free for. Not only did he give him a specific time to be ready for him, like they were going on a date, but he said it so openly in front of Mandy. For some reason, Ian always thought they were hiding the fact that they were friends from her but maybe that was just Ian assuming that.

He took a shower and searched through his clean laundry for something nice to wear. When he found something he liked, he threw it on, and brushed his hair out of his eyes. He looked at himself in the mirror and smiled but after a few seconds it faltered and he turned away from the reflection.

Did Mickey ever actually look at him? He didn’t know why he was worried about his appearance. Chances were this wasn’t a date at all and Mickey was just trying to make sure Ian was home so he could feed his cat.

Ian shut the bathroom door and he slid to the floor by the cat, petting it for a minute, before standing back up.

Feeling stupid for wanting to look nice when this didn't mean anything, he sighed to himself. He pulled his black sweater over his head and unbuttoned the plaid shirt underneath when the door swung open.

It was Mickey. He appeared especially clean, his hair messy but more brushed out, and he was wearing a jean jacket with a crisp white t-shirt clinging loosely underneath. Mickey sipped on the Sprite in his hand and leaned casually against the door frame.

Ian blushed and buttoned his shirt up, threw the black pullover on, and tucked his hands into his jeans.

“Don’t you knock, jeez.”

“Aren’t you used to getting naked in front of guys?” Mickey smirked and if it wasn’t for knowing better, Ian would have thought that was a flirt.

Despite his embarrassment, Ian stole a peek at Mickey who was drinking again. His adam’s apple bobbed and Ian gulped at the same time.

Mickey dropped his wrist and put the can out to Ian, his eyes secretive and for a minute Ian was afraid he could read his mind and all the racy thought that were going through it right now. He took the Sprite and sipped while Mickey went across the room to pick up his cat and give it affection.

It was a stupid, silly, but he was blushing at the thought of drinking after Mickey even though it wasn’t anything special.

“Did you get this out of our fridge?” Ian wondered idly, smiling, and Mickey made a gruff sound, not bothering to answer.

“Thanks for looking after her,” Mickey remarked instead, letting the cat gnaw at his hand, the one with less cut marks. The dried blood was cleaned up more now but there were still jagged scratches, dark bruises, and Ian wondered how many other wounds were on Mickey’s body. It was rare for Mickey to show much skin.

“You’re welcome,” Ian replied and he glanced at the clock. “You’re also early.”

“I wanted to see my cat,” Mickey said matter of fact like and he tossed her around. The cat raced around his wounded hand and tried to catch it. He let her grab it just long enough for her to get excited but pulled away before she clawed at him.

“Want me to put something on those cuts?” Ian offered, leaning on the wall, taking another drink of the soda. He figured Mickey would either ignore him or tell him to fuck off but Mickey put his hand out eagerly. Ian was dumbfounded.

“Really?” he asked, choking on the liquid in his mouth.

“My sprite,” Mickey clarified and Ian sighed, of course. He gave it over and then Mickey drinked it and exhaled.

“Okay,” he said, petting the cat again. “If it doesn’t fucking burn then fucking do it.”

Ian processed that and ran to the bathroom, before Mickey could change his mind, coming back with Neosporin as fast as he could.

He sat criss crossed next to Mickey and pinched the cap off. The fact that Mickey was willing to accept some self care was astounding. He was about to hand the tiny tube over but Mickey had his injured hand out, faced down, and he was looking at him, waiting.

“Uh,” Ian tried and Mickey curled his fingers in.

“Well? Are you going to fucking do it or what?”

Ian coughed and took the hand, letting his fingers slide slowly down Mickey’s palm to his wrist. Mickey didn’t even flinch when Ian used his other hand to dot medicine on the wounds that were red, swollen, and spread across the entire back of his hand.

Ian looked up through his bangs but dropped his eyes when they met with Mickey’s own.

“Does it hurt?”

“No,” Mickey said dully.

It might have been a lie but Ian rubbed more of the affected areas anyways, gently putting some pressure and then letting up when the white cream disappeared. Mickey didn’t turn away through the whole process and that was nerve wrecking.

“What kind of music do you like?” Mickey asked suddenly and Ian’s fingers stopped working.

“Huh?”

“Which one do you like?” Mickey snapped, sharper.

“Most stuff, I guess,” Ian answered, perplexed. Mickey’s fingers twitched when Ian massaged one of the really bad looking lesions.

“Sorry,” he muttered.

“I said it doesn’t hurt.”

“Okay.”

How could Mickey look so calm when Ian was getting flustered just because they were touching hands? This was just a friend helping another friend, Ian had to remind himself. Even though that friend could easily put the medicine on himself but let Ian do it instead.

He pushed up along Mickey’s jacket sleeve, rolling it back to his elbow and Mickey reclined from his touch, glaring.

“What are you doing?”

“You’re hurt on your arms too, right?” Ian replied, remembering vividly the bruises and gashes he saw the other night. Mickey looked like he was about to stop him but he put his arm back out and let Ian roll the sleeve back, revealing more wounds.

Ian looked down sadly and felt his heart sink. There were more marks than he remembered, some were faded, less fresh. Who knows how many scars were hidden under these clothes and not just visible ones either.

“Could you hurry up?”

He jolted from Mickey’s aggravated voice and hovered the tube. He touched where Mickey was hurt and bit down on his lip so he didn’t say anything he shouldn’t.

“My dad kicked her.”

Ian looked up and Mickey was watching the cat.

“I don’t really remember what happened after except that I hit him in the face and there was blood and he was grabbing me, pretty damn strong grip, but I hit him so hard he was too stunned to fight. Then I took her and she was scared so she wouldn’t stop scratching me. It fucking hurt but I didn’t let go. Somehow, when I left, I ended up here,” he finished.

Ian was done using the medicine but he still held onto Mickey’s arm. He traced down the skin with his thumb down to his knuckles and then he turned it over, lingering on his palm.

What was he supposed to say? Part of him was angry and upset hearing this, knowing he couldn't’ do anything about it, but another part of him was guiltily happy that Mickey told him. Mickey jerked away and stood up, hiding his hand in his jacket.

“Wait, the other one?” Ian burst out and got off the floor.

“It doesn’t really matter. We should get going.”

He left the room and Ian had no choice but to put the medicine down and follow. He wanted to mention what he just heard but thought better of it, knowing it took a lot of willpower for Mickey to tell him in the first place.

After walking in silence for a few blocks, Ian caught Mickey touching the arm Ian fixed up.

“Where are we going?” Ian asked quietly.

“Concert,” Mickey answered and rolled the sleeves back down on his arms once they got to a busier road.

Even though his thoughts still lingered on Mickey’s injuries he started to smile. They were going to a fucking concert. Mickey was willingly taking Ian out to hang out.

“Some guy I know is doing a gig tonight and fucking wouldn’t stop pestering me about going. You don't mind rock and I like it,” Mickey told him, crossing the street with Ian not too far behind.

Ian couldn’t stop grinning as they walked on. Maybe he wasn’t so crazy for thinking this was a date.

“The fuck you keep smiling about? It’s creepy as hell,” Mickey interjected.

“I’ve never been to a concert.”

“It’s nothing big, don’t get too excited.”

It’s with you, Ian wanted to say but he internally hit himself for it.

They stopped at a crowded biker bar, the neon sign flooding blue and orange fluorescent light over the people waiting in line. Mickey went straight to the front of the line and the bouncer was about to give him shit but when he saw Mickey’s face they hit fists and Mickey went inside.

Ian, embarrassed for cutting, went in front of the couple who were glaring daggers at the two, and scanned his eyes around the bustling bar. The people here were, for the most part, older than they were and Ian wondered if high schoolers were even allowed in here.

There was smoke lingering in the air and Mickey stopped, breathed it in with a happy sigh, and continued walking. There was a large stage at the back of the place where people were setting up instruments and the bar was completely full so Mickey slid into a black cushioned booth, eyes on Ian as he came up to sit.

“So, this is your hangout?” Ian asked, smiling and surveying more, fully intrigued by all the lights and Western decor. There was an at home atmosphere, not like the deadbeat one at the Alibi. It felt lively and welcoming.

“Hell no. It’s where those assholes that are always pestering you like to hang out,” Mickey snorted, picking up the menu.

“Aren’t they your friends?”

“Define friendship,” Mickey muttered, briefly looking over the menu before moving it to the side.

“Maybe what we have?” Ian asked, hopeful. Mickey’s eyes darted up but they were interrupted when a waitress came up.

“Mickey!” she shouted, her Southern accent pleasant to Ian’s ears. She placed a big basket of piping hot bread down in front of the two and Ian felt his stomach growling already.

“Hey,” Mickey responded and then she was smiling at Ian, like a doting mother.

“Is this your friend? Where are the guys tonight?”

“Fuckers like to get drunk and get drunk some more and then they show up,” Mickey spat and Ian sank a bit in the seat, a little disappointed they wouldn’t be alone the whole night.

“I want some pie,” Mickey grunted and she smiled softly down at him.

“Black cherry, right? Some pop to go with it?” she inquired, delighted, and Mickey nodded, messing with a roll, tearing it mindlessly. Ian looked at him and then quickly at the waitress.

“A beer and a burger, thanks,” he smiled graciously, handing over the menu.

When they were alone again, Ian leaned across the table slightly and he picked up one of the breads.

“Is this free?” he asked before biting and Mickey still didn’t eat, eyes now sweeping over the dessert menu he picked up from the side of the table.

“Yeah, man, go for it.”

Ian devoured the roll, loving every second of the soft, buttery bread. He wasn’t accustomed to bread that wasn’t stale.

“So, you’re not drinking?” Ian asked, remembering many of their other encounters when Mickey couldn’t seem to keep the alcohol from his lips.

“He doesn’t drink when he listens to music,” the waitress laughed, now back and setting their drinks down in front of them. Mickey’s lip curled a bit but he downed on the dark soda, still not meeting Ian’s eyes.

“So this guy’s band is pretty important to you, then?” Ian smirked as he nodded in thanks when she left.

“They’re not too bad. I don’t have to fucking explain my habits now, do I?”

“Nope, not at all.”

Mickey chugged more, like he was trying to get drunk off the soda anyways, and then he slammed the empty glass down on the table, crossing his arms over himself.

“It’s an old style of rock, you might not like it so much," he said curtly.

“Hey,” Ian objected, sipping the beer and thinking that it wasn’t too bad, “I’m not that picky.”

Mickey seemed to be slumping down into the seat so much that Ian wondered how he wasn’t on the floor yet. He had his head down, looking back and forth between the stage and the bar, sometimes at the table.

“Thanks for letting me come with you tonight,” Ian went on, trying to ease something out of Mickey. He didn’t look up and the dim lighting was making it hard to read him, not that he could do that much anyways.

“You make me sound like such an asshole. Like it’s such an honor I’m letting you sit here right now. I’m not letting you, you don’t need to be fucking invited,” Mickey uttered and Ian laughed lightly.

“So you mean I can just tag along with you whenever I want?”

“Fuck off.”

It would have sounded rude to others but to Ian, that simple phrase would be the death of him. It was always a subtle way of Mickey avoiding crossing some line but also his way of saying yes, you can tag along. His way of trying to hint that he wasn’t good at this kind of stuff and didn't know how to say it the right way.

The light in the room grew even darker and there were loud voices on the stage. The two of them turned around and there were guys on stage, already revving up the speakers.

The music started and pretty soon everyone was cheering and laughing, having a really good time. It was the rowdiness that Ian grew up in, that at home feeling from when he first walked in kicking in.

When the waitress brought their food, Mickey didn’t touch it, too zoned out from watching the band on stage. Ian chewed up his burger and listened to the mixture of hard and soft melodies with the song changes. It was nice, not angry music or sad music, refreshing but upbeat.

He was too focused on Mickey to really pay attention though. Mickey who was dazed out and intensely putting all his focus into the people playing. He was sitting up with his hand on the seat so he could watch from where they were sitting easier and Ian thought he would run off any second to get closer.

“We can move up,” Ian murmured, leaning across so Mickey could hear him. Mickey whipped his head around and then downcast his eyes again. Why wouldn’t Mickey look at him?

“Are you okay, Mick?”

Mickey rubbed his face and then slowly tilted his head so their eyes met. He looked like he wanted to say something but didn’t and then some men scrambled up to their table, snorting and laughing.

“Mickey!” They cried in unison and they tried dog piling him but he kicked them off and fled back to the other end of the table, staring menacingly.

“Hey man, how’s Rick’s show so far?” The white guy with the greasy hair slurred out.

“Fucking great. Not like you were here to enjoy it.”

“Ginger!” The dark skinned one grinned and he threw his arms around him, making Ian tense up. They all smelled like sweat and booze and were falling all over each other. Mickey reached out and tugged the guy away from Ian.

“Keep your grubby hands to yourself, bitch.”

“Oops,” he chortled and they shuffled off into the crowd to get near the stage.

“Rick?” Ian asked cautiously, brushing his shirt off but not able to get the smell out of his nostrils. Mickey said nothing and after a little longer, the band was done playing. He hopped up, leaving money on the table for the both of them and Ian snagged the pie, eating it on the way out since Mickey wasn’t going to.

“That was pretty fucking good,” Ian admitted, his mouth stuffed. “So is this fucking pie. Thanks for paying.”

“It's cool,” Mickey shrugged and when they were nearing his house, Ian finished the last bit of crust and tossed the paper plate into someone’s garbage.

“Okay, come on. What’s up? You’ve been acting like a zombie all day.”

“I’m fucking good.”

“Is it that Rick guy? You wanted to talk to him or something?”

Mickey was quiet and they got to Ian’s porch. 

“He’s my uncle,” Mickey blurted. Ian’s eyes widened.

“No shit? Your uncle?” Ian mused, feeling more relief than he should. He laughed and leaned on the railing of the steps. Mickey seemed not to know what to do with himself and kicked along the edge of the steps.

“Yeah, my dad’s brother and shit.”

“Why didn’t you talk to him?”

“I don’t know, man, I don’t really know him. I mean, I know him but he doesn’t come around much. Not like I blame him, it’s all fucked up here.”

“I thought you said a friend wanted you to come see the show? He didn’t know you were there?” Ian questioned, leaning further back against the iron.

“Yeah, well, it doesn’t really matter,” Mickey responded, fleeing down the stairs and into the yard.

“Hey, Mick, there’s nothing wrong with it. You wanted to watch him play, didn’t you? There’s nothing wrong with that.”

Mickey toyed with his sleeve and then he looked back at Ian. Ian pushed himself off the rail and smiled warmly down at him, speaking softly.

“He plays guitar and he’s a hell of a good player. I don’t think you should feel bad for admiring him.”

Ian opened the door to the house and the light from indoors shone down on Mickey whose expression was surprised and thoughtful.

“Thanks for the date,” Ian added, only half joking, hoping he wasn’t coming on too strong but Mickey didn’t correct him.

Mickey spun fully around and trotted up the stairs, making Ian’s heart leap into his throat. He stopped short of where Ian was standing. They stood in the cool air of the night, listening to the sound of passerbys chatting and cars humming.

“Patch up the other arm?” Mickey requested lowly, looking up. Ian swallowed.

Ian wanted to kiss him then and taste those words. In those words was trust. The trust for Ian to touch his scars, take care of him, do something meaningful for him. Mickey moved into the house before he was answered.

It could have been the lighting but Ian could have sworn he saw him smiling.


	12. Only Looking at You

“It’s so fucking cold,” Ian complained, breathing hot air onto his hands.

“I told you to bring gloves,” Mandy replied, handing him skates. Ian looked down at the black boots, the blades on the end gleaming.

The ice rink was full, kids and adults were flying around like it was pinball and the scent of pizza and hot dogs filled the air. It was noisy from the people chatting and ambient pop music playing on the speakers throughout the room. 

“I haven’t been ice skating in years,” Ian said, seeing the fog of his breath, and followed Mandy to one of the silver benches so they could pull their shoes on. Mandy tucked some of her hair into her knitted hat and touched her makeup up before lacing the shoes.

“Aw, you’re already beautiful, Mandy. Don’t try too hard to look nice for me,” Ian smiled, wiggling his eyebrows, and she returned it, pushing him playfully.

They heard loud munching and looked up to find Mickey sauntering up, sucking some liquid cheese off his thumb. Ian reached out to snatch one of the chips in the box but Mickey moved the cardboard box out of reach.

“What’s the magic word, asshole?” he asked, shaking the nachos around teasingly.

“Fucker,” Mandy smirked and she jumped up, trying to pull it out of his hands. They had a tug of war for a minute before Ian snuck up and took the nachos, already stuffing a handful into his mouth.

“Goddamn pig,” Mickey laughed gruffly and Mandy hit him.

“Look who’s talking. You only came skating so you could fucking eat nachos.”

“Damn right,” Mickey smirked, grabbing the box back from Ian so he could chomp on another chip. Some kids ran by, almost knocking them over, and Mickey turned his head.

“Slow the fuck down,” he said but it was muffled from all the food in his mouth.

“You need help with your skates?” Mandy asked, turning to Ian who was undoing the laces. He shook his head and finished tying it up, standing.

“Let’s hit the ice before more kids show up,” Mandy smiled and she grabbed his hand with her gloved one.

“You’re going to freeze your hands off, Ian, shit.”

“I know, it was stupid to forget them.”

Mickey was sitting down on the bench, sipping on a big drink, looking around in boredom.

When Ian looked back at him as Mandy pulled him towards the ice, Mickey met his eyes. Ian smiled softly, pointing to his own face, hoping Mickey would get it. Mickey looked away, swiping the corner of his mouth to get rid of the dab of nacho cheese there, irritated but flushed.

“Holy fuck this is awesome!” Mandy yelled as soon as they slid onto the rink. People flew by them and Mandy almost fell over from the surprise. They held onto each other and moved forward, slowly moving their feet.

Eventually the two of them got into a good rhythm and they were zooming across the skating rink with the rest of the crowd.

“Can’t catch me!” Mandy called out and Ian skidded around to a stop and slid forward after her, laughing. He caught up and grabbed her from behind, making them both fall over.

“Ouch,” she snickered, wiping her gloves into Ian’s hair. He shook his head and pushed her away, helping her to stand back up with him.

After more playful chasing, Ian skated out of the rink and found Mickey laying down on the bench now, scrolling through his phone with ear buds in. He lazily reached down to pick the giant cup of soda up off the floor but Ian got to it first, already sipping the straw.

Mickey took one ear bud out and rolled his eyes at him.

“Fucking kid.”

“Hey, I’m having fun, unlike some of us couch potatoes.”

“This is a bench,” Mickey snorted, taking the cup from Ian.

“Come skate with us. You’ll have fun.”

“You seriously think I’m going to go bust my ass and get all fucking wet and cold? Real fucking fun.”

“Can you skate?” Ian quirked, leaning down so they were more eye level. Mickey chewed his bottom lip and shrugged.

“It can’t be too fucking hard if all these rug rats are doing it.”

“Okay, then you shouldn’t worry about busting your ass, should you?” Ian challenged, cocking his head to the side.

“Fuck you,” Mickey scoffed, scrolling through more songs and putting the ear bud back in.

Ian watched him until Mandy came up with a pair of skates and they looked at each other. There was a knowing moment between them and then Ian grabbed Mickey’s wrists and put some weight down on them as Mandy pulled Mickey's shoes off. It all happened so fast that Mickey didn’t have a chance to fight back, the skates now firmly on his feet.

“The fuck-” he breathed out, trying to get Ian off of him who backed away, feeling accomplished and a little bad for holding him down, knowing Mickey didn’t like being touched like that.

“Sorry, Mickey, it was the only way.”

“Fuck you it was the only way. How am I supposed to fucking get around now? Give me my shoes,” he growled, glaring at Mandy who held them up triumphantly.

“You can come over here and get them, Mick. You came to skate so you’re going to fucking skate.”

“Fuck if I will,” he laughed hollowly and hopped up, wobbling towards her. They couldn’t help but crack up at how comical Mickey looked.

“I’m sorry, I can’t take you seriously,” Mandy bellowed, holding her side as she backed away an inch. He looked so angry and embarrassed trying to get towards her, throwing his arms out for balance. Ian chuckled to himself.

“I’ll just fucking take these off,” Mickey leered and hobbled back to the bench but Ian didn’t let him and moved him towards the rink, his hand firm on the small of Mickey's back.

“We have to get you out there, Mick. Can’t waste this opportunity to see how good you are, can we?”

“Get the fuck off me!” Mickey shouted, throwing his elbow into Ian’s stomach but Mandy grabbed him from the other side and they got him to the edge of the ice. 

“I said fucking get off.”

“It’s not much different from slow dancing, Mickey,” Ian mumbled by his ear, “just a little faster and on skates. You’ll be fine.”

Mickey’s cheeks heated up and that put a smile on Ian’s face. Mickey's body seemed to go rigid once they actually got the blades of his skates to touch the ice. The three slid out and they didn’t let go of him.

“Fuck,” Mickey said breathily. Mandy instantly let go, causing Mickey to tilt to the side and blindly reach his hand out, tugging on Ian’s jacket. They toppled over but Ian didn’t hit the ice like Mickey did and he burst into laughter at Mickey sitting on his ass, staring daggers up at them.

“You’re both fucking dead.”

“Try it, Mick,” Mandy howled, skating backwards with her hands behind her back. She effortlessly glided away from them and into the swarm of people circling where they were.

“It’s okay, Mickey, it gets easier,” Ian grinned, reaching his hand out to help him up. Mickey ignored the offer and tried to balance himself to a standing point but his legs shook and he would have hit the floor again if it weren’t for Ian grabbing both his hands between his own.

“Hey, slow down,” Ian said soothingly. Mickey’s hands were warm and made his skin tingle.

“You're fucking freezing, let go,” Mickey hissed but Ian didn’t and let Mickey use him to steady himself.

“You will be too at this rate,” Ian grinned, intertwining their fingers.

Mickey looked around but didn’t pull away and his knees were finally still. The wind of people passing them by felt nice against Ian’s face, a cool rush going through his hair.

“Fucking forcing me out here for this shit,” Mickey rambled and sucked in air when Ian started to walk them backwards.

“The fuck are you doing?” he asked nervously, looking down at his skates as he tried to keep up with Ian’s steps. Mickey missed his footing and his ankle buckled but Ian pulled him closer, not letting go of his hands, and waited until he could stand again.

“Like I said, you two are fucking gone when I get off this ice,” Mickey threatened but it was an empty threat, Ian knew.

“I like this,” Ian smiled gently and Mickey kept his eyes low so he could watch where they were going.

“Well I’m glad one of us is having a fucking good time. Good for you,” Mickey retorted, annoyed.

“No, I mean, I’m glad I can do this with you. You’re always swooping in and helping me with school and now I can do something you can’t so I get to be the teacher,” Ian explained, brushing his thumb absentmindedly across the back of Mickey’s hand.

“How about more teaching and less getting in your fucking feelings then?”

After he said it, Mickey slipped and dragged them both down to the ice. They were tangled together until Ian rolled off of him, chuckling. His back was on the ice and it was cold, seeping through his jeans, but it was riveting.

Mickey didn’t look as happy, sitting up to wipe his hands across his knees. He squinted at Ian and attempted to get up but slid back down.

“Tell me when it starts getting fun.”

“You’re such a joy kill,” Ian pouted, swinging himself up and taking Mickey’s hand. He didn’t give him a chance to get too steady and glided to the side, making Mickey slide with him. It was only for a few seconds before they fell back onto the ice. At least Mickey looked less grumpy.

“See? You can skate if you try,” Ian told him, going to stand again. “Let’s keep trying.”

When they were fully upright again, Ian pulled him closer. Mickey averted his eyes but Ian didn’t miss the look of embarrassment on his face.

“Just focus on one point so you don’t fall over as much. Like, find something to look at while you walk and keep looking at that. It helps, trust me,” Ian explained and Mickey searched the rink with his eyes.

“You can look at me if you want,” Ian offered. Mickey coughed.

“Fuck off.”

Mickey swept his eyes across the crowd and they ultimately landed on Ian’s own eyes but after some thought they dropped to the logo on Ian's shirt.

“Okay, that’s fine,” Ian laughed and let go of Mickey’s hands, causing his eyes to flicker back up.

“Why are you fucking letting go?”

“So you can try steadying yourself on your own,” Ian smirked, a little happy knowing that Mickey wanted to rely on him. 

“Relax,” he added, moving back a few steps and Mickey’s hands were raising and dropping, his legs shaking.

“You have to breathe, Mick. Just let yourself be loose, you’ll be okay.”

“I fucking get it, Ian,” Mickey snapped, taking in a deep breath and exhaling. He looked up at him expectantly and Ian was bubbling with the urge to hug him. He was too adorable, his big blue eyes a little frightened being thrown out here but also calm, waiting for Ian to help him out.

Mandy skated to a stop by Mickey then, the metal scraping the ice, jolting Mickey from his relaxed state. She was looking at Ian, wondering why he was still here with her brother, but when Mickey lost his balance and dropped to his hands and knees, she cackled.

Ian glided the couple of feet that set them apart and bent over. Mickey raised his head and he was smiling so Ian smiled brightly back.

“This is so fucking stupid. Who thought it would be cool to put a piece of fucking metal on a shoe and use it to run around on goddamn thin ice?” Mickey laughed quietly and Ian chuckled. Mandy stopped giggling and looked between the two of them blankly.

“Well, I’m sure the people living in the ice age didn’t have cars so they had to do something,” Ian suggested.

“Please tell me you don’t actually think that,” Mickey sighed, shaking his head, and allowed Ian to pull him off the ground.

“No, I don't think that, fuck you."

They pushed each other around until Mickey almost fell and held onto Ian’s arm. They both laughed and this time Ian was the one to miss a step, toppling them over. They were chuckling like kids, swinging light punches at each other and Mandy crunched her blade into the ice, walking to where they were sitting.

“Hey, I’m going to grab some pizza at the concession stand,” she said and Ian brushed himself off as he stood.

“I’ll come.”

“The line is pretty long so I’ll just wave you over after I get it,” Mandy reassured. She looked down at Mickey and her face softened, her eyes happy. She skated off and Ian watched her go, thinking.

Mickey got himself up and inhaled.

“Holy fuck. I guess this stuff isn’t so easy.”

“You’ll be flying around like a fairy in no time,” Ian coaxed, skating by Mickey, moving easily around him.

“Fucking show off,” Mickey smirked, his eyes never leaving Ian as he zoomed by.

“Hey, I’ll leave you to fend for yourself, you know,” Ian warned, brushing by and letting his hand glide over Mickey’s forearm, putting a little pressure to tip him.

“Asshole,” Mickey shot back, turning himself around. He seemed to have the hang of staying balanced enough not to fall while he was standing now. Ian made a few circles and then he stopped in front of Mickey again.

A few girls skated by, waving at the two of them, and Mickey looked away when Ian waved back.

“You’re so unfriendly,” Ian scolded mildly. When he turned his head, Mickey suddenly grabbed his hands.

“Are you going to gawk at girls all day or show me how to fucking do this shit?” he asked, a hint of a smirk on his lips, and Ian’s eyes lowered. His breath became shallow and he was in awe at all the specks of blue in Mickey's eyes that were sparkling, more beautiful than anything he ever laid eyes on.

“I’m not looking at anyone but you, Mickey,” he whispered seriously.

Mickey’s expression fell at that, his fingers twitching under Ian's. Knowing that he might get pushed away, Ian quickly pulled them both across the ice, getting a string of foul language from Mickey but they were eased back into their light movement.

It didn’t take long for Mickey to be able to at least move over the ice, even if he couldn’t do it without holding onto Ian but Ian didn’t mind, finding comfort in the fact that Mickey was enjoying himself now.

Then Mandy was at the glass so they glided to her, Mickey not so gracefully but he didn’t fall, and the three of them were chatting loudly and fighting over the pizza slices. 

Ian never felt like he could laugh so honestly, never be himself with anyone besides his family before now. 

As he watched Mandy steal a bite out of Mickey's pizza, sending them into a playful argument, he realized he cared more about the two people in front of him than they would ever know.

 

 


	13. They All Leave Eventually

Mandy and Ian were sitting outside in the grass, waiting for the city bus, when Mickey came up to them.

“Hey Mick,” Ian greeted and Mandy looked between the two of them skeptically.

“How’s she doing?” Mickey asked automatically and Ian leaned forward, draping his arms across Mandy’s legs that were outstretched over his own.

“She was all cozy in my bed this morning. You know, the place that I sleep. It’s not like I’ll be coughing up fur all night or anything though so don’t worry about me.”

“I’ll drop food off later,” Mickey retorted and walked off. Ian watched him go and Mandy hit his arm. She looked kind of annoyed and curious at the same time.

“What?” he asked, rubbing his shoulder as she crossed her arms.

“What’s going on with you and my brother?”

He leaned back from her legs and put his weight on his elbows.

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know it’s just-” she moved her lips and tilted her head. “The way you guys look at each other. He doesn’t just willingly come up and talk to my friends like he talks to you.”

Ian laughed out despite the sudden nervousness he was feeling.

“Look at each other? You’re going to need to elaborate on that, Mandy.”

“Like,” she pursed her lips again, “I don’t know. My brother doesn’t go out of his way like that. He’s not exactly a social butterfly if you haven’t noticed.”

“He talked to me for all of two seconds? You really got something from that?”

“I know him,” she defended. “He’s a big fucking asshole and he’s always giving off that hard ass vibe, you know? He has to act tough in order to deal with my dad’s shit but-” she paused and moved closer to Ian, lowering her voice. “Besides me, he’s never let his guard down with anyone for very long.”

Ian listened, more intently now. He kind of wanted her to stop because it was embarrassing what she was getting at but he was too invested in finding out more about Mickey than was good for him.

“I’ve just noticed when he interacts with you, he’s not really like that so much. He doesn’t look like he’ll beat the shit out of you if you say or do the wrong thing. Plus, he’s letting you take care of the kitty.”

Ian turned his head away and shrugged but felt happy by her observation.

“Yeah, about that, he kind of just left the cat in my room and gives me food for it. I don’t really think that’s anything to work yourself up over, Mandy.”

“That cat is the only thing more important to him than his guitar, you know. The other week, shit got rough, so I get why he doesn’t want her in the house right now but the fact that he’s trusting you to take care of her is mind fucking.”

“Is there a point to this?” Ian sighed, not wanting to give himself away too much, and fell back into the grass. Mandy hovered over him with a playful smirk.

“Oh, don’t pretend with me, Ian Gallagher. You totally have the hots for my brother.”

He sat up so fast that their foreheads bumped and Mandy fell back with a hiss.

“Ow! Ian!”

“Sorry,” he shouted quickly and rubbed his own head. “It’s just, come on, Mandy! I’m not fucking your brother.”

“I didn’t say that,” Mandy grumbled and brushed fingers through her bangs to fix them. “I’m saying that you guys seem to be getting pretty close.”

The bus pulled up then and Ian hopped up with his book bag and helped Mandy stand up.

“Even if I wanted to do something with Mickey, it’s not happening.”

They got onto the bus and slid into the empty seats at the back. When it pulled off, Mandy turned to him immediately.

“So, you want to do something with him then?”

“It sounds like you want us to, jesus.”

“Ian, my brother stopped smoking.”

Ian messed around with the straps on his book bag and tried not to look her in the eyes as she spoke.

“He barely drinks now too. Not to mention he doesn’t come home looking like a fucking hobo these days.”

“Great, maybe he got a girlfriend,” Ian countered and he didn’t know why he was feeling really anxious about her mentioning all this. It was like if she pointed those things out, he would think too into them and believe it was true and he couldn’t let himself do that.  

“My brother slept over at your house yesterday, didn’t he?”

Ian’s head whipped up and he replied in a wobbly voice, “He told you?”

“I wouldn’t stop pestering so he spit it out,” she smirked proudly and did a quick look over of her nails, giving Ian time to come up with an answer.

“Okay, we’re friends, so? He has other friends, I’ve seen them.”

“Those trashy bikers? Yeah, no, those aren’t really his friends. Those are guys he does weed with every now and then for the hell of it. He doesn’t even like them much. Besides, my asshole dad makes sure we can’t fucking have friends, remember?”

Ian watched her expression, her face dropped for a moment into something weaker and sadder but then it was replaced with flatness. The Milkovich’s were too good at hiding their pain.

Ian gripped his book bag strap harder. 

“Yeah, it’s bullshit,” he grimaced.

“You know, Ian,” Mandy smiled brightly and she leaned her head into his shoulder, closing her eyes. The bus rumbled gently and Ian softened into the touch, moving some of Mandy’s hair from her face. She laughed quietly.

“I love you, you know? You’re the only person in this world I give a shit about except that music obsessed asshole. I trust you and I feel safe with you. With those other guys, it’s not the same. They all leave eventually or I’m too scared to stay with them.”

Ian felt his chest tighten and he nodded, unable to form a coherent response because his vocal cords were closing up. Mandy never really voiced things like this too often.

“I think my brother might be starting to feel like that, you know? I think he knows that you won’t screw him over but he’s really fucked up, Ian. You’re so gentle and you care so much and that has to scare him.”

Ian bowed his head and their bodies bounced from the bus ride. Mandy shifted to a more comfortable position and draped her arms around him. She trembled a bit and Ian stiffened when he saw tears on her face.

“Thanks for talking to me Freshman year instead of making fun of me,” she choked out. She took in a needed breath and added, “Thanks for not giving up on me when I fuck up. Thanks for being my best friend.”

She sniffed and couldn’t continue so she hid her face in his shirt. Ian rubbed his hand over her shoulder and gave her a reassuring squeeze.

“Hey, Mandy, I’m not going anywhere,” Ian replied softly. Mandy nodded and tightened her hold.

“I know.”

  


When there was a tap against Ian’s window, he broke from his concentration and jolted out of the bed to move the curtain back.

There was Mickey with one hand in his pocket and the other holding a plastic bag full of what Ian could only assume was cat food. He gave him a thumbs up and headed downstairs. Fiona was at work again and he wondered if she would ever actually meet Mickey at this point.

“Hey,” Ian said when Mickey brushed by him to come inside.

“Hey,” Mickey responded, stopping at the stairs and turning around, like he had missed something.

They looked at each other for a minute and Ian couldn’t help but think about what Mandy said on the bus. Did she have some magical radar for Mickey’s feelings? With just one interaction, she could give an entire essay on what Mickey was thinking and Ian couldn’t even tell if Mickey was annoyed with him or happy to see him right now.

Mickey’s crystal eyes were level, like they weren’t soft or hard, that much he could tell. Okay, they were kind of droopy, there were dark spots under them and Mickey’s eyebrows were raised, not lowered, so he probably wasn’t annoyed. . . Ian felt so dumb overthinking this stuff. He wasn’t Sherlock Holmes, that’s for sure.

“What the fuck’s up?” Mickey asked after another minute and Ian looked down sheepishly.

“Uh, nothing.”

Mickey didn’t comment and went upstairs into Ian’s room, Ian not too far behind. He saw his cat and picked her up, dropping the bag of food on the floor.

“What’s up, McMuffin?”

Ian closed the door behind him and despite trying to hold back, he burst out laughing. Mickey glared and put the cat back onto the bed.

“You seriously fucking named it that? Holy shit!” Ian bawled, dropping onto the bed, holding onto his stomach.

“Shut the fuck up. Mandy named her.”

“Yeah? Sure, okay. Whatever you say, _Mick_ Muffin.”

“He’s fucking stupid, don’t listen,” Mickey growled and picked the cat back up so he could scratch behind her ear. She meowed happily and started to lick his hand. The wounds on Mickey’s hands had healed up for the most part, mostly faded lines now.

“She pissed on the bed earlier,” Ian told him and pointed to the wet spot at the end. Mickey glanced back.

“I can put it in the laundry for you if you’re scared of cat piss.”

“Asshole,” Ian smiled and he leaned down to clump the sheets up, leaving the room. When he returned, Mickey was putting catnip out to the kitten.

Ian fell onto his bed and grabbed his homework that he was halfway done with but his eyes kept accidentally slipping over the paper to watch Mickey play. Mickey was smiling while he teased her, his eyes were shining, and it was stupid but Ian was kind of jealous that those kind of smiles were never reserved for him.

“You’re really cute, Mickey,” Ian blurted out but as soon as it came out he wished he could swallow the words back up. Fuck, why the fuck did he say that?

Mickey’s hand dropped and the cat stopped running around, confused.

“I told you-”

“Yeah, sorry, too gay,” Ian breathed out, scribbling aggressively, his heart thumping. The cat started amusing itself by rubbing up against Mickey’s knee and then it wandered to Carl’s bed, searching for something in the trash.

Ian tried to ignore the beating in his chest while he wrote hardly, his hand cramping up, but it wasn’t doing much good. He was only getting angrier with every scratch of the pencil against the paper. After a little while, he dropped his work and sat up.

“No, I’m not sorry, Mickey. I take back my apology because I meant what I said. Deal with it.”

Mickey didn’t turn around but Ian knew he must have scowled.

“What the fuck?”

It was already too late to go back, Ian thought, so he let himself say how he felt, not worrying about what Mickey would do.

“You’re so warped into thinking you’re worthless that you react angrily to any kind of praise. I’m not pretending anymore. You’re fucking cute and I don’t care if you feel like you have to be violent so people will think less of you. You’re fucking worth something, Mickey, so shut the fuck up and take the compliment.”

Mickey just kept watching the cat play but Ian saw how his body visibly deflated. He shifted from his sitting position so he was laying down on his side and Ian thought the conversation was over but Mickey spoke up.

“Why don’t you take your own fucking advice?”

Ian furrowed his brow and moved closer to the edge of the bed.

“Huh?”

“Like you’re so fucking different,” Mickey spat, looking blankly at the ceiling now. “If you had any self worth you wouldn't have spent high school doing dirty shit in the bathroom stall and behind the bleachers.”

This was that defensive side coming out, Ian convinced himself, but what Mickey said still stung.

“I liked it, asshole,” Ian glowered. Mickey was making him feel really angry now.

“Not according to your little journals,” he replied simply and Ian bristled, his heart speeding up again.

“What?”

“Your stories,” Mickey drawled, lazily moving his eyes to the crate by Ian’s bed full of folders. Ian thought he couldn’t breathe and moved to the floor now, grabbing Mickey’s arm to turn him so he was forced to look at him.

“Mickey,” he breathed out, biting his lip, “what are you talking about?”

“Your fucking writings. I told you I think you’re fucking good at writing so I read your stuff when I run out of good books for the week.”

The air in the room felt thinner and it was spinning in slow motion. Ian wasn’t thinking straight anymore. He acted on impulse, punching Mickey across the jaw.

It wasn’t very hard, just enough to shock him but his hand jerked back and he shot up, flinging himself to his bed and against the wall because Mickey was off the ground in a heartbeat, his eyes dangerous.

“Are you out of your fucking mind?” Mickey leered, his voice eerily calm.

“That shit is personal, Mickey!” Ian shouted but he didn’t leave his spot against the wall.

Mickey walked forward, his steps were slow and heavy, and Ian didn’t think he could feel this afraid.

“You can’t steal my stuff because it’s fun for you. That’s not for you to decide,” Ian said harshly but he was too scared to yell. “I write because I have to get shit out sometimes. You can’t just do what you want with my-”

Mickey crawled onto the bed and Ian froze, wanting to escape but he couldn’t move. The second he punched Mickey, something changed about him, something wrong.

“Why don’t they ever touch me gently?” Mickey recited, eyes dark. Ian shook his head, recognizing his own words. 

“Stop, Mickey.”

“Why are they so rough? I thought it was supposed to be happiness and bliss and love. This isn’t any of that.”

Ian covered his eyes and shook his head more, recognizing the quotes all too well, wanting to shut himself off but Mickey’s voice was too close.

“They don’t want me. They want what I can give them and then they throw me away like garbage. Maybe that’s really all I am. Just another faggot, worthless, a warm mouth,” Mickey’s voice trailed off when Ian started crying. It was too much, hearing his own words spoken out loud.

“Stop,” Ian gasped out, digging his nails into his eyelids, feeling warm tears streaming against his shaky wrists. It was pathetic, crying like this in front of Mickey but he couldn’t stop sobbing and all the suppressed emotions pulsated throughout his body.

He wrote it all down so he didn’t have those thoughts etched into his mind all day and now it was flooding in like Mickey broke some damn inside of him.

“Get out,” he weeped, feeling the pain over his eyes where his nails were scraping deeper. There was no movement so he trembled harder. He buried his head into his knees, trying to hide the humiliation. He wanted to tell Mickey to go away again but there was no way of getting anything coherent out now.

Mickey was just sitting there, not leaving, not saying anything, and it was only making Ian more upset. He curled up further into himself and it was like choking on nothing and he had a sick feeling in his stomach but couldn’t throw it up. He gasped in and out and rubbed his face against his pants to dry some of the sorrow.

Mickey made him relive and remember everything he hated about himself for years in just seconds.

“Fuck.”

It was all he heard Mickey say and then the door to the room slammed, almost vibrating the walls. The cat was still there, meowing loudly by the door, and then after Mickey didn’t return it leaped onto Ian’s bed and rolled close to him, purring itself to sleep.

 


	14. Closer and Closer

Ian avoided Mickey for two weeks straight.

Even though the world didn’t stop spinning, Mickey didn’t stop going to school, and Ian didn’t stop studying, it was as if time stilled.

For Ian, everything was a haze, some fog that he was swimming through just to try and get to the other side. He found it hard to look at his textbooks because he couldn’t relax, his mind always falling back into that moment with Mickey.

He sometimes found after spacing out that there were drops of water on the pages and his cheeks were wet. It was frustrating, crying like a baby while Mickey moved on with life. What made it worse was that Ian was hurting like hell instead of letting it go. He didn’t have to be so worked up over this. Mickey barely acknowledged them as friends in the first place so who cares that he knew all of his insecurities? Who the fuck cares what Mickey Milkovich thinks or feels about him?

Fuck him.

Ian groaned because he just couldn’t focus and dropped his head onto the papers below. He let himself breathe in and out but it didn’t alleviate the headache.

 

“What the fuck happened?”

Ian didn’t glance up at Mandy who was standing over him with her arms over her chest. She sounded pissed off more than anything but Ian was too busy trying to memorize the flashcards in his hands to react. Mandy reached down and snatched them out of his hand, forcing him to look up at her.

“What the hell, Mandy? I need to finish looking those over. My test is in ten minutes.”

“Good, ten minutes is plenty of time for you to explain the situation to me because I’m fucking lost,” she said icily and stuffed the cards into her bra. He rolled his eyes and stood up.

“What are you talking about, Mandy?”

“You and Mick. He’s been dicking around more than usual. It’s fucking irritating and I know it’s because you guys got into a fight.”

‘Why the hell would I have anything to do with what he does?” Ian snapped. He didn’t usually get angry with Mandy, no matter how blunt she could be, but he was feeling antsy.

“Ian, I should have warned you more than I did. Mickey is fucking psycho. I should have told you so he didn’t hurt you. Fuck, I’m sorry, Ian. What the fuck did he do?”

“Nothing happened,” Ian lied, “The only thing I need Mickey to do is get his cat out of my house. He hasn’t picked her up. Can I have my cards now?”

“Ian, you’ve been depressed all week. You don’t laugh or smile and I’m getting really fucking worried.”

“Don’t,” Ian said quietly as Mandy put her hand on his arm. He could feel himself crumbling under the gesture, unable to push her away.

“Ian, listen to me. Whatever you feel for my brother needs to stop. He isn’t that guy. He isn’t going to hold you when you’re down or pull stars out of the sky for you. Mickey can’t have stable relationships, okay? He just can’t.”

Ian huffed air out, wanting to tell her she was overreacting, but his stomach dropped at the words. It was like she was telling him something he already knew but didn’t want to believe.

“It’s not just dad that messed him up,” Mandy whispered, “When Mickey was in middle school he had a group of friends, South side guys, that he ran with. He was stealing cars, doing hard drugs, all kinds of stupid shit with those fuckers but they were his friends. He would beat the shit out of someone who hurt his friends, he was loyal like that. One night, those guys coaxed Mickey into letting them sneak into our house. When they realized our dad wasn’t home, they jumped him, really fucked him up. Then they stole a lot of shit and spat on him, saying that he was spoiled North side trash and left.”

Mandy pulled the flash cards out of her breast when the bell rang.

“Mickey can’t care about you because he doesn’t know how to care about himself, Ian. Don’t forget that and save yourself the heartache. I’m telling you this because you deserve all the happiness in the world,” she explained sadly. She left when Ian remained silent and looked back, her eyes gentle.

Ian felt like the wind was knocked out of him but he eventually stuffed the flash cards into his pockets and picked up his bag, numbly going to class.

 

“Oh, you actually came home,” Mandy said coldly when Mickey walked into the house. She was lounging on the couch by the front door and when he shut the door behind him, she put her phone down. He ignored her and walked across the living room to the spiral staircase. She jumped up and got between him and the stairs.

“You smell like a fucking liquor store,” Mandy scoffed, looking him up and down. His lips were chapped and there were bags under his eyes.

“You really want to lose your fucking teeth?” Mickey threatened and side stepped her but she shot her arm out to block the way.

“You’re drunk and got in a fight,” she pointed out, brushing Mickey’s hair back to reveal the fresh blood trickling down his forehead.

“It’s so fucking unheard of around here, isn’t it?” Mickey growled, his voice stumbling a bit from the alcohol. He smacked her hand back and tried to get by again but she didn’t move.

“Mandy, you’re about to go to the fucking ER if you don’t get out of my way.”

“You should know better than to try that bullshit with me, Mick. It’s not going to work.”

She got more in his space and he turned his eyes.

“Say what you want to me but don’t fuck around with Ian. Whatever you did, you better fix it right now. He deserves more than the shit he’s been through and if you’re doing anything to make his life harder than you really are lower than dirt.”

Mickey shoved her aside and went up the stairs but she was right behind him.

“Don’t you give a fuck about anybody but yourself?”

Mickey made it to his room and kicked the door but Mandy pushed it open and shut it behind herself.

“Get the fuck out of my room,” he said tiredly, stumbling towards his bed. The room was moving too much, making his head whirl.

“Yeah, fucking sleep it off, asshole. Just go pretend that everything is fine and ignore all the shit going on so you don’t have to deal with it. One day, you’re going to really regret hurting him.”

She slammed the door and Mickey tripped and turned over on his bed. Even though his bed was much bigger than Ian’s, much more cushioned too, it seemed like stone in comparison.

He reached his hand out blindly, like he expected something or someone to be next to him, and then dropped it when he met air.

Mickey moaned and rubbed the heel of his hand into his eyes. There was something warm on his fingers and when he opened his eyes, he could see it was his blood.

He rolled over and looked around the room. There was his guitar in the corner, where it always sat, and there was his bookshelf, his computer, everything was in place. It was neat and not cluttered like the Gallagher’s house but Mickey wished it was. His room was empty and hollow, a lie to cover up the mess that his father brought on them.

Mickey moved and must not have realized how close to the edge of the bed he had gotten because he was suddenly on the floor, pain throbbing in the back of his head.

“Fuck,” Mickey choked out and tried to sit up, just to fall backwards. He blinked up at the ceiling and his breath went shallow.

“Sorry,” he moaned, wiping his hands over his face. “Don’t fucking leave.”

He was so out of it that he didn’t even know what he was saying or who he was talking to. He was just filling the space in this room with his voice. When he touched the blood on his head again, he started muttering to himself.

“Fix it,” he rambled, the drowsiness and dizziness overwhelming him. His entire body seemed to be aching, probably from whatever fight he got into earlier.

“You gonna fix me?” Mickey slurred and he sounded desperate, reaching his hand out to nothing. He searched the floor and once he couldn’t keep his eyes open anymore, things were going black.

“Ian?” he murmured and in just seconds after the whisper left his lips, Mickey fell out.

 

More days passed and Ian still wasn’t able to keep his mind off of the delinquent. It’s all he thought about, all day, every day. It was pathetic.

Mickey was the one who hurt him and betrayed him by going through his personal stuff. How could Mickey always act like Ian was too pushy and never let him in but he was allowed to list Ian’s secrets out loud like it was nothing? He got to read those words that were never meant to be seen and treat them like a joke. How could he do that?

Ian got up from the floor of his room and pulled his jacket and boots on, his blood boiling.

It took him no time to get to the train and ride across town to the North Side. He didn’t need to ask for directions this time and was storming down the streets, probably looking like a criminal to these people.

His fingers clenched inside of his jacket and he had to remind himself to stay calm as he climbed over the Milkovich house gate, dragging himself up the hill. His breath was uneven by the time he got to the front, more from the anger than anything, and he wasn’t sure how he should go about getting inside.

Just then an Escalade pulled out from the driveway. Ian felt so brave that he was ready to stalk up to it and pull the asshole driving out. If it was Mickey, good, if it was Mickey’s dad, even better. But that thought diminished when he was jerked from behind.

He found himself standing in the backyard, in front of the fountain, the glow under the water calmed him until his eyes landed on Mickey who was moving back, dropping his hand from Ian’s arm. There were cut marks across Mickey’s face and the whites of his eyes were reddened.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Mickey growled, blue eyes stormy. “My dad was out there.”

“Fuck your dad and fuck you,” Ian retorted but the anger he wanted to come out was much tamer now that he was actually in front of the other.

“If he saw you-”

“Let him see!” Ian laughed, throwing his hands into the air. “Whatever he wants to do to me can’t be any worse than what you already fucking did.”

“Ian,” Mickey sighed, rubbing his neck. “Hurry and get the fuck out of here before-”

“Before what? You kick my ass? You’re so full of shit.”

“Get the fuck out of here! Fuck!” Mickey yelled hoarsely and he pushed Ian back. Ian barely stumbled.

“You go through my shit, look inside my head, and _you’re_ pissed? That’s real fucking cool,” Ian replied, bitter and sour and upset.

“You have some fucking nerve coming here with this shit,” Mickey barked back, getting riled up. “You get in my shit whenever you have a fucking chance. Ask about my dad, what the fuck’s been happening in my house, try to drag some kind of shit out of me that isn’t there. I don’t fucking care what you were expecting here but don’t. I don’t give a shit about you, asshole, so what the fuck are you still standing here for?”

All the anger Ian felt dwindled to the last drop, down into the Earth somewhere. Mickey’s words were like a knife stabbing rapidly through him with each syllable.

Mickey turned away, sick of standing there, and took out a cigarette, putting it to his mouth as he ascended the stairs up to the house. Before the flame touched the paper and ash, Ian ran forward.

Unable to breathe, on the verge of having a panic attack, Ian turned Mickey around, and pushed him into the door. The unlit cigarette flew out of his hand.

“Then why does it sound like you’re just trying to convince yourself that?” Ian exhaled, putting an arm by Mickey’s head, giving him nowhere to run.

“We agreed you wouldn't’t smoke,” he continued, looking into shocked eyes. “Remember why? You wanted me to stop screwing guys. You hate the idea of people putting their hands on me like that, don’t you? Now I know it’s because you read what I felt. You know that deep down I hate it too. I really fucking hate myself for what I do and let people do to me.”

Mickey’s eyes were darting between Ian’s but he didn’t move. Ian took a few needed breaths and leaned even further down so they were inches apart.

“I shouldn’t have hit you and I’m sorry. You get enough of that already so I probably set you off.”

Mickey averted his gaze, keeping his eyes firmly on the trees caging them in. There he was, shutting down because the conversation was turning to him now.

“You care about me, Mickey. It’s already too late to say you don’t,” Ian murmured and Mickey didn’t let his gaze waver, staying far away, like his body was there but his mind was gone. He was shivering slightly, plastered to the wall beneath Ian’s blurry eyes.

“When I’m with you, I don’t feel so worthless,” Ian added, a heavy weight lifting as the words left. “And you don’t feel worthless with me. I know that much.”

It was almost inaudible but they were so close that he knew Mickey heard him. Mickey’s lips were tight and his body was showing every sign of wanting to run away from Ian’s advances but he remained where he was.

“Whatever the fuck you want,” Mickey finally replied, hard and void of emotion, “is a waste of time. That love and happiness shit? You won’t find any of it here so stay the fuck away from me.”

He ducked away from Ian and slammed the door in his face.

Ian stared at the space where Mickey’s head was touching and then he looked back into the trees. He hobbled down the steps and dipped his hand into the water of the fountain but it wasn’t warm or soothing like he expected. It was icy to the touch, piercing through his skin and bone.

 

It was the dead of night and Ian woke up with a start. He was sweating, probably having a nightmare. He swiped at his bleary eyes to make sure he was still in the comfort of his room.

He missed having Lip and Liam, even Carl, in the room, at least right now. He was all alone in this tiny space, so dark and suffocating. Mickey’s cat was snoring softly from across the room, liking the safety of underneath Carl’s bed and at least that sound was somewhat comforting.

Ian fluffed up his pillow and fell back down into the sheets, trying to bury himself. He just wanted to fucking sleep. It’s all he wanted anymore.

There was a small knock on the door but he didn’t answer, not wanting to deal with Fiona right now. Was it her that woke him up in the first place, knocking?

The door creaked and closed and Ian opened his eyes, trying to squint through the darkness at what the hell was going on. He couldn’t fucking believe it.

There was Mickey, standing in his room, blue eyes reflecting the light of the moon from the window, his hands tucked at his sides, twisting the fabric of his shirt. Either Ian fell back asleep and was dreaming or his mind was just fucking him now. After a few more blinks, Mickey was still there.

“Thanks for waking me up,” Ian glowered coldly, shutting his eyes again. This was the last thing he wanted to deal with right now. Mickey told him to fuck off and he did his share. He would fuck off once and for all.

“Do you just waltz into anybody’s fucking house?” he added sleepily, wiping his face with the cotton of his sleeve. “Fucking break in and take and use what you want. You’re good at doing that, that’s for fucking sure. ”

Ian’s head was so dizzy that he was already starting to pass back out. He made a few small sounds and hid his face further into the pillow.

“Your cat is over there if that’s what you want. I didn’t stop taking care of her since it’s not her fault she was abandoned. I guess it’s that easy for you to walk out when shit gets tough and not really care what you’re leaving behind, huh? My dad and mom were pretty good at that so it’s nothing I’m not used to,” he breathed out, starting to get emotional. He inhaled a shaky breath so he could calm down.

“Hey, I’ll stay the fuck away from you though so don’t worry about telling me to fuck off again.”

“I care about you.”

Ian’s hand fell from his face and his eyes flew open. It seemed to echo, Mickey’s whisper, now trapped in this room.

It wasn’t an apology, it wasn’t begging, it wasn’t asking for forgiveness but it sounded so honest, not covered by self hatred and fear.

Mickey didn’t move from the spot by Ian’s bed. His eyes were pleading and Ian remembered when he first met Mickey, how Mickey told him that he never pleaded.

Ian thought about the bruises on Mickey’s wrists, the story about how he was betrayed by his friends, the way he tried not to sit too close, the instinct to fight anything that made him happy. Any desire to tell Mickey to go was replaced with the urge to comfort him. Maybe it was unhealthy and maybe Mandy was right about her brother but Ian was already too far gone to think rationally anymore.

Mickey was waiting for any sign from Ian on what he should do. He was giving Ian the choice this time on whether he was allowed to stay or not.

Ian pushed himself up slightly and reached his hand out, offering. It was quiet minus the cat purring across the room and Mickey stared down at Ian’s palm in disbelief, any hardness left in him dissolving.

Then Mickey’s hands unclenched from his shirt and when he reached out and brushed his fingers lightly over Ian’s, Ian swept him down under the sheets and pulled him into his arms, closer and closer because it would never be enough.


	15. By Your Side

Ian didn’t know when his heart was going to stop racing. He was in the middle of a test for christ’s sake. When he finally turned it in, his heart still didn’t calm down.

This morning he woke up with Mickey to his chest, the scent of Mickey’s shampoo in his bed, the soft fabric of Mickey’s clothes between his fingers.

He held him all night and wondered how the hell he ever fell asleep. It was a miracle he woke up before Mickey did and if he could have his way, they would have stayed pressed together all day.

That was until FIona opened the door to tell him to go to school. Mickey woke up with a start and only took a second to pick his cat up before he was out of the house so fast that Ian wondered if he should start running track instead of playing the guitar.

It didn’t hide the fact that Mickey never left, not exactly willingly at least, and that just made everything one hundred times better. Ian knew it was dangerous, thinking that one line Mickey said last night was a borderline confession. It wasn’t an ‘I love you’ or anything but it still didn’t stop him from seeing a silver lining in the clouds of their relationship.

To top it off, Mickey actually came up to him after class, the way that Mandy normally did.

“Hey,” Mickey greeted but there was no sign on his face that last night changed anything between them. Ian was blushing anyways and just when that floaty feeling started to diminish, it was back.

“Hey,” Ian stammered. He searched for something in Mickey’s eyes, not really sure what, but he wanted there to be something there.

“So, there’s this thing I have to do with my sister for class,” Mickey started, getting to the point. Ian still didn’t stop watching for a sign, anything to indicate he wasn’t imagining that pleading voice last night.

“We have Oceanography or whatever and we have to go on this field trip Saturday. It’s at the Aquarium on the North Side. If you don’t have shit to do, you could drop by. Mandy wanted me to ask you since she went home early.”

“Is she okay?” Ian interjected quickly and Mickey nodded.

“Fucking faking sick so she can spend the day with some boy toy. Anyways, if you’re bored, it’s like $10. Do you need some green?”

Ian wasn’t able to stop the smile from happening and as soon as Mickey saw it he turned around.

“Just fucking let me know if you do later, goddammit.”

He stalked off, pushing people out of his way as he went. Ian watched him go, the butterflies scattering in his stomach. He was so fucked.

 

It didn't take long to find the group of teenagers loitering in front of the stingray tank.

Ian fixed his hair, reminding himself he needed to get it cut later, and looked for the Milkovich siblings. There were a lot of people at the aquarium today so it wasn't exactly easy to spot them. Ian blended in with the kids on the field trip and swooped through until he found Mandy. She was, surprisingly enough, talking to Mickey instead of some other guy and they were in the middle of a funny conversation based on the laughter in their eyes.

He moved up to them and Mickey saw Ian first and shied away towards the stingrays. When Mandy turned around, she ran up to hug him.

"You came!"

"This place is huge," Ian commented, pulling back from the hug. Mandy looped their arms and once the class finished snapping pictures of the stingray tank, they moved on through a dark tunnel entrance nearby.

Mickey moved to the empty space by the stingrays that opened up and crouched. He leaned over the clear water and peered down. Mandy and Ian came up behind him and looked out. The stingrays were like bats, sweeping over the floor of the tank and occasionally coming towards the surface.

"Come on, Mick. We need to stick with everyone," Mandy reminded.

Ian moved out of her hold and dropped down by Mickey. They watched the stingrays brush against each other, dive, and glide through the water.

"It looks like they're smiling," Ian laughed when one swung up towards the surface and it's mouth was visible. Ian reached his hand out but the stingray didn't come close enough to touch.

Mickey dipped his hand into the water and waited patiently. One finally came up and Mickey went so far over the edge that Ian caught him by the waist so he didn't fall in. Mickey touched the little guy and pulled his hand out of the water, smirking like it was some great achievement.

"You seriously trying to make a move right now?" he questioned, eyeing Ian's hands. Ian let go of him.

"I should have let you fall in," Ian scoffed teasingly, turning to dip his hand in the water. A stingray swam up but Ian couldn't get it.

"Hey, hold onto me so I can get one."

"You heard him, bitch," Mickey said, amused.

"He meant you, dumb ass,” Mandy glared.

She looked relieved to see the two of them getting along but there was that concern in her eyes, like she was waiting for something bad to happen.

"I think you can handle it," Mickey told Ian and stood up. Ian leaned over, more than he meant to and brushed his hand against the stingray. When his body tipped, Mickey grabbed Ian’s shirt and jerked him backwards against himself.

"Fuck, Ian," he sighed, letting go.

Ian was a little more delighted than he meant to be when Mickey moved away.

The three of them went down the dark entrance and found themselves in a blue lit tunnel. There were jellyfish swarming around them in the glass on the walls. They were like balls of light, oranges and pinks and purples. Ian watched in awe and Mandy took a minute to write some stuff down on her worksheet. Mickey went ahead of them, seeming particularly interested in a baby jellyfish near the bottom of the glass.

"You guys patched it up?" Mandy whispered suddenly, taking a quick picture of the group of jellies above them.

"Huh? Uh, yeah," Ian mumbled, embarrassed. He didn't know exactly if he wanted to tell her anything. Maybe she could help him out with Mickey but at the same time, she made it clear how she felt about the two of them a few days ago.

"So, you’re really going to keep this up? This crush on my brother? You need to be careful."

"Mandy, just chill out. It’s not like I’m in love with the guy.”

"I can't sit by and watch this train wreck, Ian! I thought it would be okay but Mickey isn't good for you. You have no idea-"

"Mandy, let it go, okay?" Ian whispered urgently and looked across the room. Luckily, Mickey was gone.

She stayed quiet as they went to the end of the tunnel. In the next area there were tanks full of tropical fish and turtles. The room was dark with waves of light coming from the ceiling, giving the illusion of being underwater. 

Mandy browsed the fish, looking bored so Ian crossed the room to where Mickey was standing. He was blinking at a large sea turtle swimming slowly in front of the glass. The shadows and light from the tank spread across Mickey's face and the atmosphere was so serene Ian could take a nap on the ground.

"You really going to keep following me?" Mickey inquired but his voice was even, not irritated in the least.

"Well, you did ask me to come so I don't want you to feel ignored," Ian smiled in reply, putting a finger up to the glass. The turtle thought it was food and snapped out at it a couple times before it swam away.

"I told you it was Mandy," Mickey argued, his hands now in his pockets.

"You didn't sound like you _didn't_ want me to come," Ian remarked confidently. Mickey side glanced at him and smiled sarcastically, walking off.

Ian exhaled. His attempts with Mickey weren't ever getting him anywhere. It was like they were forever in a standstill. Maybe Mandy was right and he should forget about being more to Mickey than he was. He should stop hoping that someday Mickey would open up and they could move past this shifty friendship.

For the rest of the time, the three of them explored all the various exhibits in the aquarium. Mickey seemed to be interested in everything, more so than Ian and Mandy were.

They were now in a glass tunnel, surrounded by fish, sharks, and other sea creatures. Mandy was in a heated conversation with a boy from their class so Ian watched some clown fish that were swimming overhead. The fish were everywhere, some pretty and colorful, some bright while others were large and after a while he was completely mesmerized by how beautiful they were.

Mickey was by him then, his head craned up to look at the animals too. A stingray swam by and then a shark, moving it's fin back and forth slowly. It was tranquil, watching so many living creatures move in unison under watery light.

"Don't you care when my sister leaves you like that?" Mickey wondered out loud and Ian shrugged.

"She has other friends."

"She don't give a fuck about them."

"I know," Ian said sadly, all too used to Mandy's cycle of boyfriends.

"She just wants more than she has, I think," Ian admitted, now looking at Mickey.

"She's so fucking stupid."

"You don't think that though. I think you and Mandy look out for each other more than you want to admit."

"You don't fucking know anything."

"I think I know a lot more than you think," Ian replied softly and Mickey turned his head.

"Yeah, okay, wise guy, you can't even solve a basic math prob-"

"I know you and Mandy," Ian reiterated and his eyes were back on the glass above. A rust colored hammerhead passed and then a school of angel fish.

"You don't want me following you around but here you are talking to me. It’s because you're worried I might be upset about Mandy ditching me and you can't leave me alone, huh? See? I know you," Ian smiled, watching a large sea turtle come up and make the other fish swim off.

Mickey was quiet but he didn't leave Ian's side. They stood there for a few minutes and pretty soon the crowd of people in the room became less and less.

After seeing another couple of sharks move through the rippling water, Ian walked away this time.

The bus for the class trip was leaving when Ian and Mickey made it outside. Mandy wasn’t anywhere in sight either. Mickey looked down at his blank worksheet and tossed it in the trash, turning in the opposite direction.

"You missed the bus," Ian pointed out and followed after him.

"Observant as always," Mickey answered, slowing his pace to Ian's own.

"So? You going home then?"

"Who the hell knows."

"Okay," Ian replied once they were at the city bus stop at the end of the street. Ian slid into the spot on the bench by Mickey, touching their knees together. Mickey looked down and then at Ian who was pretending not to notice, leaning back into the hard plastic.

“There’s plenty of fucking room,” Mickey claimed, referring to the extra space on Ian's other side.

“Oh, look at that,” Ian hummed in response.

“You are so fucking cocky,” Mickey mused but there was a hint of a smile on his lips.

They rambled about the aquarium and some other stuff for a while but Ian didn’t really remember. He was too happy because for the half an hour that they talked, before the bus showed up, Mickey never moved away.

 

 


	16. Smile

It shouldn’t bother him. It really shouldn’t.

Yet, Ian couldn’t brush off that nagging in the back of his mind as he watched Mickey from the window in the cafeteria. Mickey was outside, sitting under the dogwood tree on a thin blanket of snow, but there were no biker friends, the friends that he hardly noticed while reading, and instead there was another kid sitting with him. What bothered Ian was that Mickey’s book was closed in his hand and he was giving this kid all of the attention in the world.

“Hello? Earth to Ian?” Mandy intervened, waving her hand in front of his face. “You look possessed.”

“Huh? Oh no, this lunch isn’t settling is all,” Ian shrugged, stabbing his fork into the mushy stuff on his plate.

“So, you decide to keep eating it? Real smart,” she laughed and it makes Ian laugh too.

When the lunch bell rings, Ian and Mandy head to their respective classes but Ian is surprised to see Mickey in the hallway, walking with the boy from outside. They look engaged in conversation and Ian can’t help but feel that sting of jealousy that he wanted to ignore.

It wasn’t like Mickey was completely uninterested in social situations, avoided people like he would catch a disease from them or anything, and it wasn’t like Ian had to go out of his way just to get a smile from Mickey, of course it wasn’t like that. Except it was like that and now Mickey was just talking to this guy and laughing with this guy like they had been friends for years.

Mickey’s eyes never left the guy's face and then MIckey smiled. One of those amazing smiles that Ian only caught him doing in the middle of a good book or while playing with his cat. Fuck, why did he have to smile like that right now?

Ian wanted to turn around but his next class was in the door a couple feet behind them so he tried to make himself invisible in the crowd as he passed by. It didn’t really matter though, Mickey didn’t even notice him.

 

It was December, so it was no wonder the ground was whitening, but the snow really came out of the blue.

Ian was standing across the street from a low business dress shop, waiting for Mandy to return a purchase. He tapped his shoes against the sidewalk to get a little bit of the white powder off and when he looked up, Mandy was coming up to him. She wasn’t very covered up, wearing a revealing, thigh high dress and Ian felt like a father when he gave her a once over.

“Uh, it’s sub zero, Mandy.”

“Michael likes to see some skin,” she clarified, twirling. “Plus, I had to get something while I was there.

“Had to? Shopaholic,” Ian smirked and added, “Tell this guy to go watch porn if he wants to see skin because you’re going to turn into a popsicle at this rate.”

It frustrated him, the lengths this girl went to for her flings. In his heart he knew that Mandy lied to herself and that she really just wanted a boyfriend, not fuck buddies. He understood that feeling all too well.

Mandy took his hand and they went down the sidewalk and even though Mandy was already running late for her date, she didn’t rush.

“You really like this dude? You look happy,” Ian noticed and she shook her head.

“I’m happy that I have a cute best friend who worries over me so much.”

“And don’t forget it,” he chuckled, squeezing her hand. “Where are you meeting this guy?”

“The pizza place. It’s two blocks that way,” she smiled, tossing her other hand out.

“Is he decent?”

“Yeah, decent.”

“Okay,” Ian replied but he wanted to say a lot more. He wanted to drag Mandy home and watch horror flicks together or take her to a fancy restaurant himself, even if his pockets were empty.

For over three years he watched her put herself through relationship after relationship, always so enthusiastic at first, and then they never failed to end badly. Unfortunately, his advice went through one ear and out the other for Mandy. He wondered if that hard headed personality is what made it possible for her to stick with some of the trash she banged in the first place.

Ian stopped then, their hand to hand contact not breaking as Mandy's body jerked back. She looked at him, puzzled.

“Ian?”

“Don’t go with this guy, Mandy.”

It was all he could get out. Some sprinkles of snow fell into Mandy’s hair and on her nose. She blinked at him and Ian couldn’t help but think she was so much prettier than any other girl in this world.

“What’s wrong, Ian?” she asked, putting her other hand over his, the one that was intertwined with her own.

“Just don’t go with this guy, okay?” Ian repeated, voice fading.

Maybe it was because he wanted her to realize that she was too good for these guys. Maybe he was just feeling lost after seeing Mickey fawn over a stranger. Maybe he really needed someone to put him first this time.

Mandy hesitated, about to speak, but she took one long look into Ian’s face and smiled gently, turning them back the way they came, away from the pizza place.

 

Tired as hell from JROTC, Ian left school that afternoon with a yawn, leaving Mandy behind because she had a makeup exam. As soon as he got close to the bus stop, he grinned from ear to ear.

There was Lip, smoking a cigarette outside the school fence. He turned around and smirked, that lazy kind of smirk that was just arrogant enough to piss people off but lopsided enough to indicate he was glad to see Ian.

“The fuck you doing here?” Ian broke out, running up to him. He snatched the cigarette and took a drag and Lip seized it back, letting it dangle between his lips while he spoke.

“Got a winter break. A whole month.”

“Lucky,” Ian snorted, “still a week over here.”

“HIgh school, man,” Lip scoffed, breathy smoke trailing out from over the cigarette, “as if Chicago isn’t hell enough without it.”

Ian’s face fell when he saw Mickey in the schoolyard. He was walking with the guy from the other day, having another deep conversation from the looks on their faces. They came up to the fence, jumped it, and even with the guitar on his back, Mickey didn’t slip up.

Lip seemed to notice the change in Ian’s mood and followed his gaze.

“That your boyfriend?”

“Not even close,” Ian answered, wanting to sound cool but it came out with more longing than he meant.

“You want him?” Lip reprised and Ian didn’t answer because Mickey and his friend walked up to them.

“What’s up,” Mickey said to Ian, glancing at Lip momentarily.

Ian couldn’t bring himself to come up with anything witty so he just nodded. Mickey stared, a little put off by his response, and then he looked at Lip again.

“My brother, Lip,” Ian introduced. Lip made a vague hand gesture that wasn’t quite a wave, obviously not intrigued by Mickey or his friend. Mickey stared intently at the smoke coming from his mouth and then tore his eyes away, like it hurt to do so.

“Do you really have to smoke right here, man?”

“Well, if by ‘have to’ you’re asking if I’m going to put it out then, no, fuck off.”

Ian smiled a bit at his brother’s comment as Mickey gave him the middle finger.

“Mickey’s a recovering addict,” Ian smirked pointedly at Mickey whose eyes went to Ian now.

“Yeah, who the fuck’s fault is that?”

“You’ll thank me when you aren’t dying of cancer like the rest of us,” Ian assured, taking Lip’s cigarette again and breathing it in. Mickey didn’t seem happy by that but the guy next to him piped in first.

“Hey, Mickey, we should head out.”

It was awkward and somehow relieving that Mickey didn’t introduce the kid before the two of them left. Once out of earshot, Lip turned to Ian and took his cigarette back.

“You sure know how to pick them, Ian.”

“Look who’s talking.”

 

Ian tapped against his textbook with his pencil until he gave in and put it up. He glanced up to find Lip asleep on the top bunk and then down to the empty one underneath. If it wasn’t for seeing him some afternoons when school was over, he would have thought Carl ran away.

It was nice having Lip home. They spent a few hours just talking and Ian relished in every second of it. With Lip, he felt like every word was being heard and responded to, like everything he said and even what he didn’t say mattered. As much of an asshole as Lip could be, Ian found that they had a mutual respect and closeness that Ian didn’t feel with anyone else.

Ian left the house, happy to get some fresh air after being stuffed in the room with his studies once Lip went to sleep.

What he really needed was a hobby. He was sick of going home and studying or relying on other people to make him feel less lonely. The sex did it for a bit but he promised never to go back to that, no matter how low he got.

He could always call Mandy to come out with him but it was borderline midnight so he decided against it. He wandered the streets for a while until it was pretty empty, increasing his feeling of solitude. The sleet and empty boulevards made the atmosphere cold and uninviting so Ian turned to head home. It wasn’t a school night at least so he could sleep in tomorrow.

But then he saw Mickey with that kid from school and a couple of other guys. They all looked like they were having a ball, cracking up about something. If Ian didn’t feel depressed about being alone before, he did now.

Not wanting to attract their attention, Ian turned around and tried to make himself as small as he felt.

“Ian!”

It was Mickey’s voice. That voice saying his name, doing things to him, things that relaxed him and hurt him and brought heat to his face all at the same time. He didn’t turn around though and increased his pace. He didn’t want to distract Mickey from all the fun he was having.

Figuring Mickey let him go, he turned the corner and inhaled deeply. Why was he acting like this? Getting all down on himself just because Mickey had people to hang out with on a Friday night and he didn’t.

“Ian.”

Ian’s head turned and Mickey slowed down, jogging up to him. The laughter of his friends was far in the distance now.

“You didn’t hear me?” Mickey asked and it wasn’t accusing, just curious.

“Uh, yeah, I did,” Ian remarked, unable to lie. “You just looked busy.”

“We were just fucking around,” Mickey shrugged and Ian’s breath hitched in his throat when Mickey was closer to him.

There was that panic, that fucking panic where his lungs were having trouble keeping up with everything else his body was doing and his eyes were burning with the need to let tears slip out. He turned away from Mickey and went down the street, keeping his breath even and it hurt but he wouldn’t let Mickey see him breakdown.

“Ian, wait up. What the fuck’s up with you?” Mickey called out, running up to his side. “Did I tick you off somehow?”

“You smell like weed,” Ian retorted but he couldn’t control the anger and hurt in his voice.

“Is there a point in that statement?” Mickey snorted.

Ian just wanted to walk off and for Mickey not to follow because if he started explaining himself then he might go too far and overstep that balance they were maintaining.

“Weed, as in smoking,” Ian replied harshly, not caring if the point got across or not. Mickey pursued him to the next block, hiding his hands in his pockets.

“Okay? Yeah, I smoked weed.”

“Good for you,” Ian said snidely and Mickey grabbed him roughly then, turning him around so they were face to face.

“The fuck are you acting like that for?”

“Well, if you can smoke weed then how about I go suck a guy off? It isn’t sex so it should be fine.”

“Are you fucking serious? You’re mad that I smoked some weed?”

Mickey swiped at his lower lip with his thumb and raised his eyebrows. Ian didn’t meet his eyes because he was thinking about Mickey sharing a joint with that guy and the two of them breathing each other’s smoke in and how Mickey was probably happy on the high because that guy wasn’t on his ass about it.

What was he so worked up over? Their little no sex and no smoking agreement shouldn’t have been this important. That’s what he wanted to think but for Ian, it was a reminder that Mickey cared about him.

“You want some? They have more.” Mickey offered.

“Why the hell would I want to do that? I don’t care what you do with your friends.”

There was a tense silence and then Mickey sighed.

“Then what do you fucking want, man?”

“I don’t want anything from you,” Ian snapped, tears brimming under his eyes. He walked off again so he could spare Mickey the horror of actually dealing with his emotions.

“Hey,” Mickey called, tone softer now, and he moved in front of Ian to block his path. “I won’t do it again, alright? Don’t go suck some fucker off.”

“I already told you that you can do what you want,” Ian replied hardly, lowering his face. “I’m not going to stop you from fooling around. Go back to your friends, they’re probably wondering where you went.”

Ian was suddenly staring into Mickey’s eyes because Mickey’s hand was against his cheek, lifting his face gently.

“They don’t really matter,” Mickey told him, saying it like he was being careful with his words, careful not to say any more or any less than necessary, and then he removed his hand like it wasn’t supposed to be there in the first place.

When Mickey said it, Ian searched for hidden meanings between the letters and maybe it was wishful thinking but in those words he heard more.

They don’t really matter, not the way you matter.

 

“So, who’s the guy?”

Ian was laying down on the cold park bench, watching Mickey draw figures into the snow with a stick. When Ian asked the question, Mickey didn’t even look up.

“What are you going on about?”

“That guy you’ve been seeing,” Ian repeated, like it should have been obvious. He turned his eyes to the sky, afraid of seeing happiness in Mickey’s eyes at the mention of him.

“Are you talking about my cousin?”

Ian’s head turned so fast it hurt his neck.

“Your cousin?”

“Yeah, he’s been assisting at school this week so we hang out sometimes.”

“Assisting?” Ian asked, slowly feeling like a jackass the more Mickey talked.

“He’s a teacher assistant, a college bitch, getting some intern experience. I don’t know why the fuck he picked our school. Something about wanting to deal with less fortunate kids who need a good slap on the wrist or some shit.”

Mickey sloshed some snow around with the stick, making it dirty as it mixed with the mud underneath.

“We just chat about music and my uncle, you know, his dad,” Mickey finished, poking at the ground.

Ian laughed, that empty feeling disappearing as his laughter filled the night air. Mickey pushed his weight off his crouched legs and stood, dropping the stick in the snow.

“Are we sure I’m the high one?”

“Sorry,” Ian bawled, covering his eyes with his arm. “It’s just nice to know that.”

When Ian dropped his arm from his eyes, Mickey had drifted by the bench and bent over to look down at him.

“Why’s that?”

Even though Mickey was a guy, not pretty like Mandy under the stars and snow, he was breath taking, looking down at Ian through dark eyelashes, lips slightly parted and red from the cold.

Ian could have did it then. He could have just told him everything he’s been feeling, hell, he should just kiss him and get it over with since Mickey was unknowingly giving him the opportunity. But he couldn’t bring himself to do it, too afraid of the consequences.

“You’re really fond of your uncle, huh?” Ian asked instead, wanting to turn the conversation so that he didn’t do something he would regret.

“If you can call that fond then I’m fond of a lot of things,” Mickey replied calmly. Ian laughed again.

“Not really, you’re pretty damn hard to please.”

Mickey paused and they stared at each other until Ian let a smile break out on his face. Then, Mickey smiled back, that really happy, sweet smile that Ian loved. It was even more beautiful when it was directed at him and Ian thought maybe Mickey wasn’t the only one with an addiction.

 


	17. Nobody Cares, Not Really

That night, Mickey slipped into his house, still riding the high from the weed and maybe he was just a bit high off of hanging out with Ian. He closed the door, making it a habit to be noiseless at this time of night because the smallest sound could set his dad off.

But Mickey’s heart stopped because there Terry was, sitting in the living room with two other men, dressed in suits and ties. Fuck, Mickey probably had bloodshot eyes and smelled like a Mexican cartel.

“Mickey?” one of the men asked, draining the rest of his wine glass. Their interesting conversation went dull as Mickey made way for the stairs, turning slightly. His father’s eyes were cold and calculating and his lips were curled on his face, telling MIckey that he picked the wrong time to come back home.

“My son,” Terry laughed hollowly and held his wine glass up, “Must have been out with a pretty girl to get home so late, right son?”

Mickey didn’t know what the fuck the big deal of him coming home late was in the first place. He was just shy of eighteen so who the fuck cared where and who he’s been with. But these men were his business partners and Terry couldn’t stand bad impressions on himself. Mickey, not dressed like a rich kid, not polite and well mannered like a rich son, was always his biggest disappointment and here would be no exception.

“She couldn’t let me go,” Mickey replied coolly and this earned laughter from the other men but not Terry. He smiled just to pretend everything was fine but he was far from happy. There was no way they couldn’t smell the weed at this distance, especially Terry who had a trained nose for when his kids fucked up.

Mickey should have ran out of the house then because he knew what was waiting for him later but he went ahead and excused himself upstairs. Part of him wanted to pretend it was okay. He could still hear them at the top of the steps.

“Didn’t know your son was on drugs, Terry. That’s what happens when you send them to a South Side school, smack in the middle of Chicago’s filth,” one of the men laughed heartily but Mickey walked away before he could hear the excuses his father came up with.

No, Terry sent him and Mandy to a South Side school so he could keep them far away from the North Side, far away from his network.

Later that night Mickey was on the last chapter of an old book, one that you would only find in on an English teacher’s bookshelf, when his door opened. He kept his eyes down, telling himself he wasn’t scared, as Terry walked up to the bed. Mandy wasn’t home tonight so Mickey wouldn’t have to worry about her hearing, knowing, that he was really still just a scared kid when it came down to it.

He wanted to fight back but Terry was much bigger than him, much stronger, and Mickey blacked out faster than usual as Terry’s hands circled his neck, choking him. He was too tired to put up the fight for very long.

 

Mandy and Ian fooled around at the bookstore for a while since Ian had a sudden interest in going. Although Mandy didn’t really look through the books much, she had her eye on one of the cashiers and wasted no time going up to him. Ian was glad she didn’t seem to care why he wanted to come here. It made it easier for him to look around in peace.

What kind of books did Mickey read? There were thousands upon thousands and he had no idea where to start. He couldn’t name a single title out of the books he had seen in Mickey's hands. Really, the only thing he knew Mickey enjoyed reading were Ian’s inner thoughts and he didn’t know if that was a good thing or not.

Maybe Mickey enjoyed that kind of stuff? Reading painful things, emotional struggles. It creeped Ian out a bit but everyone got their kicks somehow. It was embarrassing to put this much thought into it for Mickey, who probably didn’t give a shit about the holidays either way.

Christmas was just around the corner and this could be Ian’s chance to show Mickey that he paid attention to him. With every page Ian turned in this store though, he was feeling less and less close to Mickey. Eventually, he gave up and dragged Mandy away from the cute cashier to head out. There wasn’t a dime in Ian’s pocket anyways.

They went their separate ways home. Ian pulled his coat up more over his neck because the cold was becoming more bitter as the month went on.

Then Ian stopped because some guys came out of an alley in front of him. It all happened so fast that the sky seemed to topple over. The breath was knocked out of Ian and he was on the ground with three guys above him, shouting and kicking him all over his body. It didn’t really hurt a whole lot but it was confusing and suffocating and every time Ian tried to stand up he was knocked back down. There was a lot of profanity, a lot of gay slander, but Ian just closed it off until it was over.

All the limbs flying over his head disappeared and the voices went muffled, less angry, and then the guys ran off. He recognized the jacket on one of them. It was the hockey player he knocked out at school months ago.

When he sat up, clutching his side, he met eyes with his little brother.

Carl looked older than Ian in that moment, eyes fiery, ready to kill, like an old soldier home from war. His switch was out but he clicked it shut and helped Ian stand up.

“I guess it just takes a knife to scare those pussies,” Carl smirked, not finding it funny though, and let go of Ian’s hand.

“Shit, Carl. Thanks,” Ian exhaled, trying to brush off what the hell just happened. Getting the shit beat out of you and having your eleven year old brother scare the guys that were doing it off was embarrassing. Carl didn’t seem to think so because he hugged Ian, like they didn’t see each other for years and truthfully, Ian thought maybe it had been years.

Ian hugged him back, keeping his anger about the beating inside.

“Where you been?” Ian mumbled into Carl’s hair, pulling back from the hug.

“Around,” Carl answered and it scared Ian how such a little kid talked like that. The South Side toughened all of them, turned them all harder than they should have to be, but Carl seemed to get an especially bad end of it.

“Well, how about come around the house more, huh? Fi gets worried.”

Carl nodded and Ian knew that whatever was happening with Carl over the past few months was up to Carl to share or not. He knew what it was like to keep things inside.

They walked home together, joking and laughing, rough housing, and when they got home, Lip joined in. Ian didn’t realize how much he missed his brothers until they were all playing video games and eating spaghetti on the couch, not stopping for hours until it was time to go to bed.

Ian cleaned the couch up when Lip and Carl went upstairs because Fiona didn’t need to worry about anything when she got home from work. After putting up the dishes, he cleaned his face off in the downstairs bathroom so he was somewhat presentable for school tomorrow.

Then he went to toss the trash and to his surprise, there was Mickey, sitting on the back porch steps like he lived here.

They said nothing to each other as Ian brushed by and threw the garbage away, returning to sit at Mickey’s side. Mickey noticed him, even if he had a dazed and hard look on his face, but Ian wouldn’t talk first. He would wait. That was until he noticed the marks on Mickey’s neck, dark bruises like somebody’s fingerprints.

“Mickey?” Ian asked slowly and Mickey laid back on the stairs and closed his eyes, putting the back of his hand up to his forehead. He looked so tired then that Ian was sure he would fall asleep right now, even on this hard wood. Rather than pester Mickey about his neck, Ian looked into the clouds.

“I got beat up today. You know, because I’m gay,” Ian laughed mockingly. “It was that guy I punched at the start of the semester. The guy that was fag bashing me, remember? Yeah, he brought his crew and they went to town.”

Mickey was quiet and Ian wasn’t sure if he was listening or not but he kept going anyways, just because if Mickey was going to read his thoughts without his permission, he might as well say them out loud.

“My little brother showed up with a knife and they ran off. I’m the pansy for liking dudes though, right? They said that I was meant to be bent over and didn’t let me get up.”

He waited for Mickey to make fun of him or tell him he should have fought back, anything, but he still stayed silent.

“I wonder if life would be easier if I just liked girls.”

“Fuck that,” Mickey piped up, gruffly. “It’s not your fucking fault some assholes don’t have anything better to do than gang up on a guy walking by himself. It doesn’t matter if you’re gay or straight, rich or poor, smart or stupid, they’ll always find something to hate about you so you might as well be whatever the fuck you want and just try to survive.”

Ian was practically melting at the words, his eyes already getting watery. Fuck, don’t let Mickey see.

“I don’t see why people have to label every fucking thing in the first place. They’re horny and want to get laid but the second they label their preference, solely based on what the fuck is between someone’s legs, they’re already limited to half the population. If you’re gay you want a dick. That’s it? So, if you like a guy but he doesn’t have a dick, you suddenly don’t want him anymore? Stupid as fuck.”

“If he doesn’t have a dick than he isn’t really a guy, Mick,” Ian smiled.

“You don't need a dick to be a fucking man, there's more to it," Mickey scoffed, "All people want is to get boned. It’s what’s so fucked up with the world. Nobody cares about anybody, not really. Nobody is going to have fucking feelings for you because of what you have other than what's in your pants.”

Ian didn’t even know what to say because none of this ever crossed his mind. He looked down at Mickey and he was the same guy, his eyes closed and his face weary. He was still Mickey, the Mickey who shied from emotions and attachment and yet here he was spouting about feelings like he prepared for this speech before he came over.

“Fuck being gay and fuck being straight. Just like someone because you like them, dammit,” Mickey muttered sleepily.

Ian pondered what Mickey said for a long time.

 

In the morning, school was canceled due to an incoming snowstorm. It was a frozen world outside, a flurry of white, but this kind of weather wasn’t untypical at this time of the year. Fiona peeked her head in to tell the boys that school was canceled before she went off to work early that morning. It was still dark outside so Lip and Carl fell back out without a word.

“So,” Fiona started, hand still on the doorknob. Ian wiped the sleep from his eyes and looked up at her.

“Who’s the guy on the couch? He slept in here before, didn’t he?”

“Friend from school. It’s Mandy’s brother,” Ian yawned. Fiona seemed like she wanted to ask more but after checking her watch she hurried off, saying breakfast was made whenever they decided to go get it.

Ian felt grateful and guilty at the same time, knowing Fiona probably slept all of four hours in between her work shifts last night. He needed a job so he could shoulder the weight. Too awake to fall back asleep, Ian slipped out from under the sheets and went downstairs, quietly as not to wake Mickey up. It was a shock that he was still here in the first place.

There was buttery toast and jelly on the table and Ian’s stomach growled as he took a slice. He grabbed the newspaper to check for openings but without even a high school diploma, he was going to have some trouble.

Seeing nothing promising, he pushed the paper aside and went to go back upstairs since he couldn’t exactly go out to job hunt in this weather. It wasn’t fair Fiona had to go out and work in it. Ian paused at the steps and peaked at Mickey’s sleeping form on the couch. He swiveled and leaned over the top of the sofa.

Mickey looked like he was in a coma, so still that Ian wondered if he was dead or not. Ian couldn’t stop himself as his hand lowered and brushed against Mickey’s cheek. The second it made contact, that tingly feeling went through his fingertips and into the rest of his body but it only lasted for a second because Mickey’s hand grabbed his wrist, his hold so tight Ian was afraid his bone was going to snap.

Mickey’s opened eyes were disoriented, searching the room like he didn’t know where he was at. Ian tried not to curse at how much his wrist hurt after Mickey released it.

“Sorry,” Ian winced as Mickey sat up, breathing heavily. Mickey instinctively touched his own neck, fear dancing in his irises.

Ian didn’t ask, as much as it pained him not to. He did however decide that he didn’t care if Mickey hurt him again and placed his fingers through Mickey’s dark hair. At first it startled Mickey but soon his eyelids fell and he inhaled against Ian’s hand until his eyes shut completely.

Mickey raised his own hand, touched Ian’s wrist and rubbed it apologetically before he moved away from him and laid down in the blankets that Ian set out last night.

“We don’t have school. It’s too icy on the roads,” Ian told him, heart still racing from the little thing that just happened between them.

“Okay,” Mickey grumbled, clutching onto one of the couch pillows, looking more worn out than before.

“You hungry or anything?”

“No,” Mickey responded heavily, chest still rising and falling rapidly.

“You need anything?” Ian tried again, not wanting to leave Mickey in this state.

“Yeah, okay,” Mickey breathed out. Ian perked up instantly and went to the other side of the couch.

“What do you need?” Ian asked, bending over.

“Just,” Mickey inhaled again, long and slow, “Stay in the chair or something.”

He heard the word ‘stay’ and Ian didn’t have to be asked twice. Hopping in the chair by the couch, Ian propped his shoes up on the table and turned the TV on, muting it.

He didn’t move an inch until Mickey was asleep again.


	18. Someone Who Doesn't Want to Hurt You

“I have to go job hunting, Mandy, I’m sorry,” Ian apologized, rubbing a hand through his hair. He was glancing over today’s newspaper at the kitchen table, mug of coffee up to his mouth. Mandy pouted and sat next to him, making her own cup of coffee.

“But I already got the tickets.”

“You have plenty of other guys to go with,” Ian brushed off.

“I want to go with you, Ian,” she whined, drinking the coffee. Ian smiled at her. Recently, she was trying a lot harder to put him before those other guys. He could tell she was learning to respect herself more too.

“I can’t do it today, Mandy. If I keep putting this off then I’ll never get it done. What kind of concert is in the middle of the afternoon anyways?”

“Just think about it,” Mandy persuaded. “It’s too bad I can’t use my tits to sway you.”

“Sorry about that,” Ian chuckled. Lip came down the stairs and went straight to the fridge to pour some orange juice.

“Hey, you find work yet?” he asked Ian, shutting the fridge door.

“Nope. How about you?”

“Nope,” Lip said, leaning on the counter and turned his attention to Mandy. “So, you and your brother don’t have a house or something?”

“Hey, don’t be a dick,” Ian warned, finishing the mug, turning another page of the paper.

“Our food doesn’t buy itself,” Lip proclaimed into his cup, eyeing Mandy. Ian was about to tell him to shut his mouth but Mandy chimed in.

“I have plenty to contribute but Ian won’t let me.”

“Why the fuck’s that?” Lip retaliated, giving one of his asshole smiles to Ian who rolled his eyes. He stood up and threw the newspaper in the trash.

“Let’s hurry and get jobs before this house falls apart.”

“Spoken too late,” Lip grimaced. As soon as Ian and Mandy were about to leave, Ian turned around, an idea coming to him.

“Hey, what are you doing today, Lip?”

“I thought sitting on my ass sounded like a good plan.”

“What about finding work?”

“No, I’m pretty sure sitting on my ass was the plan for today. I just got back from slaving over college work and I’m not even getting paid to do that. I’ll find something this weekend.”

“Okay, then you’re free this afternoon. Mandy, Lip here is a huge fan of that band you have tickets to,” Ian cheered.

“What?” Lip choked on his last sip of orange juice and then tossed it into the sink. Mandy looked between them and smiled.

“Really?”

“What band-”

“He would love to take you,” Ian assured, patting Lip on the back, giving him a not too subtle wink. Karma was a bitch. Lip stared at him lazily, not really pissed or confused, but annoyed.

“Sure, why the hell not,” he sighed and then Ian left the two alone.

 

Now, what kind of work would Ian be good at?

He pondered this as he made his way down tons of streets, writing and crossing out store titles on sticky notes. There were some places he automatically had to rule out because he fucked the managers before. Man, who would have guessed that he fucked this many guys. He didn't know whether to pat himself on the back or never take his dick out again.

Ian’s footsteps faltered when he came up to that bar Mickey took him to ages ago. The neon sign was off since it was daylight but the place was still busy. There was another sign on the front, however, prohibiting anyone under the age of twenty one from going inside at all.

Looks like he wasn’t dreaming about Mickey having connections last time. Considering the two of them didn’t need to show an ID, not even when Ian ordered that beer. Maybe Mickey could land him as a busboy or something. Hell, he would clean toilets at this point.

He whipped his phone out and called Mandy. After a few rings she picked up.

“Hey, Ian. Missed me already?”

“I always miss you. Where you at?”

“Waiting to go inside with your brother. The band is playing pretty soon. How’s the job hunting?”

“Not so great. Nobody’s hiring. You having a good time?”

There was a silence on the end of the phone and then Mandy giggled.

“Yeah, I am.”

Good, so Lip wasn’t being a complete ass hat to her. Ian licked his lips, hoping that what he was about to ask wouldn’t ruin her mood.

“Hey, you got Mickey’s number?”

Mandy was quiet but Ian could still hear the chattering of people around her.

“Um, yeah, why?”

“Was gonna ask if he could help land me a job at this place.”

“Ian, you know that-”

“Look, it’s just for the job, okay? I’m not going to have phone sex or anything with Mickey.”

That made her chuckle at least and she gave him the digits.

“Have fun with Lip.”

“Thanks,” Mandy smiled, “Really, thanks, Ian.”

They hung up and Mickey stared down at his phone, thumb hovering the buttons. It was now or never. He punched in Mickey’s number and waited nervously as it rang on the other end. In a way, Ian hoped he wouldn’t pick up but there was a click on the other end.

“Who the fuck is this?”

“Aren’t you peachy today?” Ian answered lightly.

“Ian? Is seeing you every fucking day and night not good enough? We gotta talk on the weekends too?”

That made Ian beam even if Mickey wasn’t joking around.

“I got your number from Mandy since I’m banished from your house. I just wondered if you could help me get some work at that bar we saw your uncle play at.”

“You have to be _not_ underage,” Mickey snorted.

“That didn’t stop us from going in before.”

“Having a beer a couple of times and working there aren’t the same thing, genius.”

“Thanks anyways,” Ian replied, disappointed, and he waited for Mickey to hang up but the line was still on.  

“How long you been looking for work?” Mickey asked.

“All morning and afternoon. That’s just today though. There hasn’t been anything up my alley for a week.”

“Okay, let’s meet up.”

Ian was glad Mickey couldn’t see him because he would be pissed about the red going to Ian’s face right now.

“You want to meet up? Why? I’m still looking for stuff.”

“I know a guy that can get you a job.”

“I’m not dealing,” Ian clarified. Lip did enough of that for the two of them and he couldn’t risk a record on his chances at college. He wasn’t as smart as Lip and would end up getting caught.

“Sure as hell aren’t, man. You really think anyone wants to buy weed off you?”

“What the hell are you trying to say?” Ian asked, not actually offended.

“You’re too-” Mickey paused for a choice of words. “You look like a goddamn raggedy Andy doll. People don’t buy from boy scouts.”

“Gee, thanks,” Ian answered, faking irritation, “At least you didn’t call me raggedy Ann.”

Mickey laughed and they decided on a rendezvous point.

 

When they met up, Ian marveled at Mickey. He was dressed in a short black coat with silver buttons, ripped gray jeans, and his hair was still a bit damp so he must have showered before heading out. Ian could smell the lemon and orange shampoo and vanilla soap, or at least that’s what his nose detected, and the only thing stopping him from tasting Mickey was some hard and painful self discipline.

“Too bad you got all dressed up for nothing,” Mickey smirked as he walked up.

It was true, Ian found a clean sweater that, if he said so himself, went with his eyes and a smooth vest to go over it this morning for his nonexistent interviews. He wondered if Mickey was checking him out, the way that he was checking Mickey out, but the logical part of him told him to know better.

“Did I? I mean, you look like you got all spruced up for our date and that was intentional.”

“Fuck off,” Mickey shot back but it was lighthearted. “I meant for this job. My guy doesn’t care about formalities and manners. He’s a real nut himself.”

“He’s your guy, huh?”

“Do you get jealous over every fucking guy I give the time of day?”

Ian couldn’t believe Mickey actually just pointed that out. Seems like Ian wasn’t as good at playing off his jealousy as he thought.

“Uh, no, that’s not what I was-”

“I’m just fucking with you, man,” Mickey responded and he walked by Ian, indicating with a nod for him to follow.

Ian was too anxious to speak now. Not about the job but about Mickey’s blatant comment. Did he catch on about how much Ian really liked him? Did he have any clue or was he really just teasing? Maybe it peeved Mickey off that Ian acted so clingy, even though Ian had thought he was doing a good job of keeping his feelings hidden.

“This is it,” Mickey told Ian as they approached a dingy looking tattoo parlor. The sign was falling off the hinges and the windows might as well have had cobwebs on them.

“Um, are you sure?” Ian asked slowly but Mickey didn’t respond and went inside so he hurried after.

The inside was a lot nicer than the outside but still it looked under maintained. At the front desk there was the guy with dark skin and red fading hair. He was talking to a white lady and when their conversation was done, he spotted Ian and Mickey.

“Mick? Ginger? The fuck are you two doing here?”

“Can I not swing by?” Mickey objected, feigning that he was hurt.

“You can but you don’t. Your parents should have named you prick, not Mick.”

“Vance, Ian here wants a job,” Mickey cut to the chase, fumbling with a binder at the desk and flipping through to look at the art. Vance swooped his eyes over Ian and smiled.

“Ginger wants a job?”

“You know, you dyed your hair red,” Ian came back and Vance chuckled.

“Shit, I like this kid already.”

“You didn’t like me before?” Ian quirked as Mickey got to the end of the pages.

“Can you do tatts?” Vance asked, leaning over the counter.

“Man, you’re lucky you can draw because you’re shit at everything else.”

“Mickey, Ian can’t talk if you are, can he? Want to head to my office, Ian?”

“I thought I was ginger,” Ian wondered and Vance smirked, leading him to the back.

“I can’t draw,” Ian admitted once they were sitting comfortably in the room where Vance apparently did his tattoos. It felt weird sitting in the reclining chair, like he was about to get his teeth pulled instead of get an interview.

“What can you do?” Vance asked idly, brushing off some instruments on the table. Ian could have said a lot of things to that, inappropriate things, but decided to play it safe.

“I can handle people, customers. I’m good at managing money too.”

“Well, one of my guys quit last week and I’ve been looking for a replacement. If Mickey is recommending you than you’re either damn good or he’s finally cracked.”

“It could be both,” Ian answered and that made Vance flash his teeth again.

“Hey, should I get this over my knuckles?” Mickey called, coming into the room with the binder opened up.

“Fuck-U-Up? That’s so trashy,” Ian chortled but Vance gave him a look that quickly made him say, “Trashy in a good way.”

“Sucky save,” Vance smirked and snatched the binder. “When the hell are you actually going to let me tatt you, man?”

“You say it like it’s your life goal. Keep it in your pants,” Mickey dismissed and the three of them went back to the front room.

“When you grow some balls we’ll talk,” Vance commented back and then he shut the binder and pushed it on the counter. He turned to Ian.

“You can start Monday. You still in school, right? You’ll work evening shift.”

“No shit? Thanks,” Ian grinned, his mood ten times better.

“Don’t get too excited. You better be impressive.”

“Just get him to stand in front of the store and you’ll have so many gay guys flock for business that you’ll be able to afford more than that piece of shit sign outside,” Mickey convinced.

Ian decided to take that as a compliment and followed Mickey outside, giving a wave to Vance. They said nothing on their walk until Ian gave under the pressure.

“You’re awesome, Mick.”

“Yeah, okay,” Mickey answered but he didn’t sound like he took it to heart.

“No, really,” Ian explained, “I can’t thank you enough.”

Mickey scratched his sleeve against his skin and glanced back.

“Do I have to tell you to keep it in your pants too?”

“Don’t worry, it’s in my pants. You made sure of that, remember?”

“Damn straight,” Mickey retorted, smile wide on his face. God, Ian just wanted Mickey to smile at him like that forever. Mickey turned back around, pace increasing.

“I think I’ll talk to Vance about working there too. I don’t want to live under my fucking dad until I’m thirty.”

“I thought you said we see each other too much during the week. Was this all a plan to see me even more?” Ian flirted, bouncing his eyebrows.

“It’s a plan to get me the fuck away from my dad,” Mickey disclosed seriously and Ian sensed the change in tone. It was flat and bitter. Another few minutes of silence passed and then Ian cleared his throat.

“Want to go bother your sister and my brother for a bit?” he suggested, wanting to cheer Mickey up somehow. “We can crash their date. Plus there’ll be music.”

Mickey looked back at him again and chewed his lower lip in thought.

“Mandy and your brother? That dick from the other day? They’re fucking?”

“Not yet,” Ian stated, “but they might if we don’t show up.”

“The fuck is wrong with you Gallaghers?”

“What? You mean because we don’t know how to stay away from the evil Milkovich’s? Or was that rhetorical?”

Before Mickey could answer, Ian took the chance to playfully push him, light and careful. There was a tense moment as Mickey turned.

Instead of shoving Ian into the ground, Mickey chased after him, laughter escaping his lips. Then they were rough housing down the street, the way normal teenage boys were meant to.

It was nice, seeing Mickey like this. He wasn’t on the offensive, trying to protect himself, fighting for survival.

He was understanding the difference between someone who wanted to hurt him and someone who didn’t and Ian wouldn’t forget that happiness lighting up in Mickey’s eyes.


	19. Merry Christmas, Mickey

Ian stirred his cereal, absent minded, and looked behind him when he heard someone coming down the stairs. It was Lip, hair messier than usual, tired bags beneath his eyes.

“Long night with Mandy?” Ian asked, amused, taking a bite of cereal.

“Long night with Mickey?” Lip fired back, grabbing his own bowl and milk.

“Hey, Mickey slept on the floor. Mandy slept in your bed,” Ian retorted to get an upper hand, although part of him secretly wished it wasn't true.

“She didn’t want to snooze next to her brother,” Lip shrugged, already digging into his breakfast. The sun was barely up outside but it was nice to sit in the kitchen, in the silence of the morning, eating cereal like all the problems of the world weren’t on their radar.

“Don’t mess with her, Lip. Seriously, be there for her or don’t, but don’t mess around.”

“Am I getting relationship advice from you out of all people?” Lip asked, giving him an arrogant smirk.

“Got any girls at college?”

“Nothing long term.”

“Is it ever long term with you?” Ian mocked, putting his empty bowl into the sink when he was done.

He went back up the stairs and found Mandy knocked out, still in Lip’s bed. Mickey was passed out on the floor, the sheets he was under now off his body.

Mickey must have tossed and turned a lot for them to peel off and tangle up like that. Ian remembered what happened last time he touched Mickey, so he gently tried to put the covers back on him without touching him. As he dropped the sheet right below Mickey’s chin, Mickey sat up, causing Ian to stumble back.

“Jesus,” Ian gasped lowly so he didn’t wake Mandy who turned over with a groan. Mickey’s eyes flickered to Ian’s and he untangled himself from the blankets.

“It’s a Sunday. You can go back to sleep,” Ian advised, eyeing Mickey while he collected himself.

“I’m not tired.”

“Man, you really need more sleep.”

“That’s an invitation to bum around in your room all day, you know.”

“Yeah, so? I just want to see you get shut eye for once,” Ian explained dryly and Mickey watched him. After a few minutes of quiet, Ian decided he would go for it.

“You can’t sleep at home, that’s fine. You’re safe here with us though so go ahead and rest up. We went to bed at like three in the morning last night, Mickey, go back to sleep.”

Mickey averted his eyes but didn’t argue with him.

“You’re up,” he responded with dully.

“And I also don’t stay awake and stare at the ceiling for hours in the dead of night like you do. Then when you do pass out, you look so dead that I feel like you won’t wake up. That is until I do try to wake you and you freak and-”

“Okay, calm down with the observations, detective,” Mickey grumbled, getting back into the covers.

“You can take my bed if you want,” Ian offered, trying not to sound too suggestive.

“You think I’m sharing the fucking bed with you?”

“I never said I was going back to sleep.” Ian sighed and his eyes flickered up to where Mandy was turned away from them. “If you want to share, that’s cool too.”

“Can you shut up? Some of us are trying to sleep here,” Mickey muttered and rolled over, almost under Ian’s bed, letting the blankets fall back off his body.

Ian left him there and found Lip smoking downstairs on the couch.

“Are we actually doing anything for Christmas this year?”

“With what cash?” Lip mumbled over the cigarette between his teeth.

“Money isn’t everything,” Ian reminded, taking the spot by him.

“It only pays for good food, independence, electricity, heat, and water, but yeah, sure, money isn’t everything,” Lip answered, crushing his cigarette in the ashtray on the table.

Ian really wished he wasn’t right.

 

It was Christmas eve but to Ian it was just another Friday. This week, with work, time passed slower than he thought possible. He liked Vance and he liked the tattoo shop but spending every second at school just to go work for another six hours was turning him into a zombie. Not to mention he still had to attend to homework and chores at the house.

He kinda missed having more time to himself. It didn’t deter him from at least having fun at work. Vance was easy to be around, especially knowing that he didn’t have to fuck him, and pretty soon Mickey was going to start working at the store too.

His feelings for Mickey weren’t even close to gone, Ian realized. Every bit of breathing room that Ian got to even think about Mickey, it reminded him of how much he liked the other.

It was nice, being able to think about someone and feel happy just from that but it still sucked knowing that it was all a waste of time. He wasn’t getting anywhere by imagining Mickey’s blinding smiles or thinking about those little gestures that meant everything to Ian and nothing to Mickey.

For fuck’s sake, Mickey kissed _him_. It wasn’t fair that Ian was the one stuck with all these emotions when Mickey was the one who unintentionally put them there. He couldn’t blame Mickey though, knowing what he knew about him, he just couldn’t do it.

Ian clocked out of work and wished he could have started sooner so he would have some money on him for Christmas. It was going to be another year with no presents and hardly a dinner worth celebrating. Of course, he loved his family and at least on holidays everyone made sure to free their schedule so they could get together.

Ian looked down at his watch. Christmas was in four hours. He could kill time since he was free from school for the next two weeks and didn't have to rush home to finish any work. His eyes drooped and he figured he might as well just go get some sleep while he could.

There was a vibration in his pocket and Ian jumped, not used to getting calls. He picked it up.

“Hello?”

“Yo.”

It was Mickey. And with just one word, all those feelings were mixing in Ian’s stomach and head.

“What’s up, Mick?”

“Where you at right now?”

“Just got off work, why?”

Ian listened and it was dead quiet on the other end. Then Mickey spoke again.

“You near the tattoo place then?”

“Two streets down, I guess. I’m about to get to the bus stop.”

“Wait there,” Mickey ordered and then the line went dead.

Ian stared at the phone in confusion and put it away, sitting down on the bus bench. He toyed with his watch and messed around with the setting in boredom until Mickey showed up.

“Hey,” Mickey exhaled.

“Hey,” Ian returned and moved over so Mickey would have room.

“I was at the bar,” Mickey started, taking the seat, “Thought it wouldn’t hurt to see you real quick since you were getting off.”

Ian gaped but shut his jaw before Mickey could see, not wanting him to know how ecstatic Ian was feeling from that.

“Thanks,” Ian said shakily, the excitement bubbling inside. Mickey looked around the streets and leaned his body forward, clasping his hands together.

“Yeah, you were pretty swamped this week but at least it’s the break so you can fucking breathe until next semester.”

No he couldn’t fucking breathe, Ian wanted to tell him, because Mickey looked so cute with his cheeks flushed and his voice sweet like honey, not defensive and stony.

“My dad’s off on a trip,” Mickey continued, not meeting Ian’s eyes. “He’s going to be gone all weekend.”

Ian waited, wanting to know if this was going somewhere or not before he got wrapped up in it. Mickey coughed uncomfortably and then leaned his head back on the bench in defeat.

“Do you want to come over?”

Any chance of Ian giving up and forgetting about his feelings for Mickey flew out the window. He almost threw himself at Mickey but held back, knowing that would ruin this moment. Gulping, Ian just nodded, and Mickey nodded too and then silence settled between them as soon as Mickey got up so they could start their journey to his house.

 

“Nice fucking house,” Ian gawked when they went through the front door of the Milkovich estate. The living room was as big as the entire downstairs of Ian’s own house. The walls were draped in luxurious paintings and the ceiling had a chandelier.

“I can’t believe you’re going to be the stereotype right now,” Ian laughed, unable to prevent himself from touching the woven fabric of the furniture and slide his hand across the marble counters in the kitchen as he followed Mickey in there.

“My house is shit dipped in gold paint,” Mickey glowered, pulling a large glass bottle out of the cabinet.

“You can pass some of the paint this way,” Ian chuckled, roaming the kitchen to take in all the pretty china on the shelves.

“You want this fancy shit or beer?” Mickey called out when Ian ended up in another room.

“Walls could use some color,” Ian shouted back, glancing around. This room had a giant table made of slick wood, in the center of the room, that was big enough for at least twenty people to sit at. There was a creamy cloth on it a mile long but besides that, there wasn’t much else to look at.

“Fancy shit or not?” Mickey asked a second time, poking his head in.

“Fancy shit sounds good.”

Mickey vanished so Ian wandered into another room. This one had a big desk with a leather chair at it’s front and three slim computer monitors on top. There was also a flat screen on the wall and various tables with figurines and pictures on them.

“Get the fuck out of my dad’s study,” Mickey yelled from across the house and Ian ran out, back into the kitchen where Mickey was pouring drinks.

“Oops,” Ian smiled sheepishly but Mickey didn’t look as angry as he sounded earlier.

Ian was about to tell Mickey that he was lucky to live like this but he stopped himself. Mickey wasn’t lucky, no, he wasn’t lucky to be where he is. Ian was the one with the family he could trust and depend on and Mickey was stuck here in a place where he couldn’t feel safe or even fall asleep.

Mickey caught him staring and his eyebrow shot up but Ian just took the glass from Mickey’s hand.

“Thanks for having me over,” Ian told him as he downed the alcohol. It was fizzy and burned with a tasty flavor.

“You sure you don’t have plans with your family?” Mickey blurted, drinking.

“Tomorrow but not tonight.”

“Okay,” Mickey blinked and when they met eyes, Ian knew this was bad. He was longing for Mickey more than he should. He had to keep himself on lock down tonight if he wanted this to happen more often.

“Where’s Mandy?” Ian swallowed, removing the glass from his lips.

“She’s not coming back tonight. She went to see our mom.”

“Whoah, what? Your mom?” Ian exclaimed, slamming the glass down.

“Mandy still has the idea that our mom gives a shit about us. It’s the wrong idea,” Mickey sneered. “She just buys Mandy nice clothes and jewelry every blue moon then sends her home like it’s some motherly gesture. I can see why she got the hell away from my dad but she doesn’t want to have anything to do with us, not really. Fuck her.”

Ian didn’t know what to say but as horrible as that was at least Mickey was easily talking about his life.

“What do you want to do?” Ian asked suddenly, trying to take Mickey’s mind off his family. Mickey relaxed and finished his glass just to re-pour it.

“You think I fucking do this a lot?”

“You have more of a social circle than I do,” Ian snorted, also finishing his glass. Mickey tipped the bottle into it and the corner of his mouth twitched.

“You’re not as observant as I thought.”

“Just my opinion,” Ian shrugged, sipping the refill.

“Come on,” Mickey sighed, bringing the glass and bottle with him. Ian’s heart raced as he leaned off the counter and they went upstairs.

Mickey’s room was no less grand than the rest of the house. It wasn’t very decorated though, just an exotic bed, probably the most comfortable looking bed Ian ever saw, and shelves full of books. He had some sketchbooks by his guitar and Ian could see some intricate looking drawings poking out along with sheet music. Mickey’s laptop was on the floor by the bed, the lid shut and there were dark curtains draped over the windows.

“I didn't know you could draw,” Ian gaped, picking up the sketchbook. Mickey looked mildly discontented but didn’t say anything and dropped to the floor, hiding the lower half of his body under his bed, typing away on the laptop.

“I’m surprised how spotless you keep your room, Mick.”

“Yeah, well,” Mickey typed more but didn’t say whatever else he was about to.

Ian took this chance to look through some of Mickey’s books, wanting to make some references for when he did get pocket change later on. After memorizing what he could, Ian slid next to Mickey, laying under the bed with just a couple inches between them. Mickey’s hands stopped briefly and he looked at Ian from the corner of his eye but when Ian smiled innocently, he went on typing.

“Pick something to watch,” Mickey mumbled, pushing his laptop over so Ian could use it.

“You might think my tastes are gay.”

“Fucking pick,” Mickey commanded, letting his chin drop to his palm. Ian could sense Mickey’s legs moving restlessly next to him under the bed. Laughing, Ian took the laptop and searched for a few flicks, turning the screen back to Mickey.

“You want to watch the fucking Notebook?” Mickey asked dubiously. “I didn’t know your gayness could stoop so low.”

“Hey, that shit could make even you cry.”

“We’ll fucking see.”

And then they were watching it, much to Ian’s disbelief. He found Mickey was really getting into it, hardly looking away from the screen. Ian did his best not to tear up at the emotional parts and peaked at Mickey to find his eyes were as dry, if not drier than before. When the movie was coming to a close, Ian noticed Mickey nodding off.

“Hey, Mick? You ready for bed?”

It was almost midnight but Ian wondered how Mickey could be so sleepy when he was wide awake later than this on the regular. He nudged him and Mickey grumbled.

“Boring ass movie.”

“Sorry,” Ian grinned, turning over to face Mickey. “Want to go to sleep?”

“No,” Mickey said shortly but his eyes were having trouble staying open.

“Come on,” Ian asserted, slipping out from under the bed so he could help Mickey get up. Mickey appeared reluctant but stood up and immediately crawled onto his massive bed, going face first. Ian tried not to think about how compromising this was and sat back down to play on Mickey’s laptop since he himself wasn’t tired.

After finding and toying around with some of the random mini games on the computer for a good hour, Ian heard Mickey moving. He raised his head enough to see Mickey facing him, curled up, eyes shut. Mickey’s hand was clutching the bed sheet and he was trembling.

Ian shut the laptop and got on his knees, reaching a hand out to Mickey’s arm so he could shake him lightly.

“Mick, wake up.”

The expression on Mickey’s face scared Ian. There were crinkles between his eyes because he was squeezing them shut so hard and his lips were parted enough to let out quick, hollow breaths.

“Mickey,” Ian said firmly, getting on the bed and cupping Mickey’s face. Mickey shot open his eyes and twisted onto his back, looking up at Ian breathlessly.

“Nightmare?” Ian inquired gently. Mickey said nothing, not even when Ian touched his face softly, trying to sooth away the panic from earlier.

“Sorry, I can, uh,” Ian stuttered and gulped, removing his hands. He got carried away. “I just need to know if I can take some covers to make a pallet on the floor.”

That drained feeling was replaced by a cheerful one when Ian noticed the time on his watch.

“Oh look, it’s Christmas. Merry Christmas, Mickey.”

Mickey sat up and stared at Ian. When Ian noted how close they were, he really thought he should back away from Mickey so he wasn’t smothering him. First, he composed himself and spoke up.

“So, where should I get covers?”

“Just stay up here,” Mickey answered and he closed the little distance between them by wrapping his arms around Ian’s neck, burying his face into Ian’s shoulder.

Ian could feel Mickey still trembling against him so he softened into the embrace, holding Mickey around his waist. He rubbed Mickey’s back soothingly and all the bottled up emotion came over him so suddenly that Ian kissed Mickey’s hair, slowly and affectionately.

But Mickey didn’t flinch out of his touch, he went closer, and Ian could feel his eyelashes against his burning neck and his breath tickling his collarbone. Ian's heart leaped into his throat as Mickey drifted back off.

Not once that night did Mickey wake up, not once did his breathing ever break, and his body went placid, never shaking while Ian held onto him.

Even when Ian laid them both down, careful not to disturb the other, Mickey held a peaceful expression on his face and didn’t let go of Ian for the rest of the night. 


	20. Rockets Hit the Sky

When Mickey cracked his eyes open, he felt completely rejuvenated. It was like he had caught up on years worth of needed sleep in just one night. As soon as he blinked the blur from his vision, Mickey froze. He was staring at Ian’s shirt, his chest, and one of Mickey’s hands was tangled in said shirt on said chest. Flickering his eyes up, he could see Ian was awake, typing something out on his phone. Mickey didn’t even know where the fuck to start.

Should he pretend to be asleep until Ian got up? Apparently, Ian didn’t have any intention of leaving his side anytime soon. There was a pressure in Mickey’s throat but he didn’t have a voice, too at a loss.

“You awake?” Ian asked, not moving his eyes away from his phone.

Mickey flushed, untangling his hand from Ian’s shirt. Ian must have busied himself to save Mickey the embarrassment of confronting the situation head on. That thought kind of made Mickey nervous.

“Yeah,” Mickey swallowed thickly, still unable to move. Ian lowered the phone out of his face long enough to smile sweetly at the other and then went back to typing.

Mickey jumped when Ian shifted into a more comfortable position although he didn’t back off, leaving them just as close. Ian’s knee was pressed into Mickey’s own and one of his hands, the one not holding the phone, was draped loosely on Mickey’s hip.

“I’m glad you got a lot of sleep,” Ian hummed and Mickey could have sworn he heard some kind of ulterior intention in the statement.

“Yeah,” Mickey said again, feeling stupid for being so flustered. It wasn’t such a big deal, waking up by Ian but Mickey remembered clinging onto him last night like some needy girlfriend and that was humiliating. It wasn’t Mickey’s fault Ian woke him up in the middle of one of his night terrors and at the time holding onto Ian seemed like the best idea.

“I have to go to my house in a few hours,” Ian commented, that happy tone still evident in his voice.

“Okay,” Mickey answered dumbly and went rigid because Ian dropped the phone to the side and slid his arm tighter over Mickey’s waist, laying his face right in front of Mickey’s. When Ian smiled at him dreamily, Mickey shivered.

“I’m patient,” Ian dared, his thumb brushing Mickey’s side.

“What?” Mickey stuttered back, that thickness still in his throat. Holy fuck, since when could he not even form a sentence?

“I’m always patient with you, Mick. If you don’t want to talk about this,” he laughed lowly, “we don’t have to.”

Mickey didn’t respond but heat was rising where Ian was still fucking touching him. Mickey could shove him away but he didn’t. It was so stupid but he didn’t want Ian to stop rubbing his hand over his side.

“Can you at least tell me if this means anything? I just want a break here. You don’t give me much to work with most of the time,” Ian requested, bright eyed.

Mickey inhaled sharply when Ian scooted his face a little closer.

“Does it, Mickey?”

Mickey’s eyes started to fall for just a moment, the feeling of Ian’s hand on him driving him mad, and an uncomfortable desire to clutch onto Ian again so he could go back to sleep bubbled up. He snapped out of it and rolled out of Ian’s hold, covering his eyes because he was so ashamed.

“Mickey?” Ian questioned. Knowing that Ian would drop this if Mickey didn’t answer, Mickey took a deep breath. He knew that what Ian said was true and that Mickey was the one always getting the break so Mickey spluttered in response.

“Okay, fuck,” he groaned against his hands, “It does. It fucking does.”

He didn’t know what the fuck Ian wanted from him here. Did this mean something? What the fuck could it mean? Mickey’s heart was pounding in his chest when Ian took his hands away from his face.

“You want to come over for Christmas?” Ian asked kindly, a really wide grin on his face. Mickey turned his head, embarrassed as hell because Ian’s hands were on his own. Why the fuck was he being so touchy? 

“No, I’m going to go see my uncle and cousin. I figured it was time to grow the fuck up and visit. They live like three hours away but my cousin is picking me up.”

“That’s good. I hope you have a really great time,” Ian muttered, voice still unreasonably happy.

“Thanks,” Mickey grumbled and Ian hopped off the bed and pulled his shoes on. Mickey could finally fucking breathe. He didn’t even know he could go that long without air.

“Let’s hang out on New Years,” Ian decided and stretched his arms over his head.

“Yeah, okay,” Mickey agreed, not moving from where he was laid out. “You want me to see you out?”

“No, that’s okay. I’ll call you in a few days. See you, Mick,” Ian beamed and for a split second, Mickey thought he was going to come back but Ian didn’t, he left, whistling to himself down the hall.

Mickey rubbed his hands over his eyes and groaned for a second time. What the fuck was wrong with him?

 

Ian never specified when he would call so Mickey found himself carrying his phone on him at all times. He was kind of pissed that he was so anxious to hear Ian’s voice.

All they fucking did was cuddle. It wasn’t anything magical. Mickey wasn’t even fucking conscious for it so what was the big fucking deal? Mickey chewed on his lip, tapping his foot at the bus stop.

It was New Year’s eve and he wondered if he should just go to the Gallagher’s without the invite since technically Ian already gave him the okay. His phone buzzed then and Mickey inwardly punched himself for answering it so fast.

“What?” Mickey grunted.

“Hey, Mickey. We’re shooting fireworks off tonight if you want to drop by,” Ian chirped on the other end.

“I got nothing better to do,” Mickey mumbled gruffly and Ian laughed as they hung up.

When he got to Ian’s house, everyone was chatting in the yard. The sky was going a chilling gray blue, dimly lighting the Earth. He spotted Ian sitting on the front steps with Mandy, Lip standing in front of them, a can of beer in his hand.

“You’re late asshole,” Mandy greeted when Mickey rolled up.

“That’s my fault. I called him at last minute,” Ian admitted, looking up at Mickey. Mickey regretted meeting his gaze, quickly finding someone else to watch.

“Help me get some of the fireworks, Mickey?” Lip asked, swigging on the beer, and Mickey shrugged, jerking his hands into his jacket.

“Let’s fucking do it.”

They went to the back of the house and there was a white guy sporting a beard, loading the van with fireworks. The man introduced himself as Ian’s neighbor, Kevin, and together, the three of them hauled dozens of fireworks into the van.

“Where the fuck did you get all this?” Mickey wondered, wanting to make conversation so he could be a little polite. They were welcoming him after all.

“What? We don’t look like we could afford it? You think we stole it because we’re South Side?” Lip jeered and Mickey glowered.

“Or maybe you stole it because you’re a douche bag?”

Lip smirked, weirdly in approval, and slammed the door to the van shut.

“Yeah, maybe.”

When they went back to the front lawn with the others, Lip put a cigarette to his mouth and smoked close to Mickey on purpose.

“We did fucking steal it though, man,” Lip told him.

“And that’s news to who exactly?” Mickey shot back, waving the smoke out of his face, "get that the fuck out of here, man.”

“Come on, Mick, take some second hand. It’s my payment for your help.”

Ian and Mandy laughed and Mickey scoffed, tearing his eyes from Lip to see Ian didn’t look like he cared much at that moment.

The whole family piled into the van then and Mickey was cornered in the back seat with Mandy and Lip who were giving each other make out eyes. Oh fuck, he did not want to see that. Ian turned around in the seat in front of him and when they looked at each other, Mickey’s stomach flopped.

“You want to light some of the fireworks, Mickey?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Mickey shrugged, not caring either way. Ian didn’t turn back around and the van hopped, hitting a bump. Ian’s lips tugged, threatening to turn into a smile, but he flipped back around in the seat before it did.

The van came to a stop and everyone flooded out. They were at a park by a lake and there was hardly a soul in sight to witness what was about to go down. Ian’s little brother and sister ran out with the older sister, who was carrying the baby Gallagher, to the edge of the water. The neighbors followed suit and Mandy and Lip went behind the van, probably to get some privacy for a quick make out.

Ian hopped out and trotted up to Mickey, his hands behind his back.

“I’m glad it isn’t too cold,” Ian mused, looking at the lake.

“Says fucking who? I forgot to bring a damn coat,” Mickey grimaced. His short sleeve shirt wasn’t doing much against the evening breeze but at least the snow from the past week was mostly gone. It melted just as fast as it appeared.

“Want mine?” Ian offered, a little too quickly, already starting to strip it off.

“No, keep that on, man,” Mickey answered urgently. He didn’t know why he was so against it but something about Ian giving him his jacket made his face hot.

“You sure?” Ian tried again, one sleeve off.

“I’m good,” Mickey nodded, putting his attention on whatever was happening anywhere but where they were standing.

They went down to join everyone else playing in the water and Mickey ended up in a deep conversation with Lip. Mandy and Ian were splashing around with the baby, Liam, and the other Gallagher’s were getting drunk off their ass.

“I guess it’s up to us to light these suckers,” Lip mumbled. “Otherwise this whole place is going in flames.”

“Would make a hell of a show,” Mickey interjected, “no pun intended.”

“Speaking of lighting up,” Lip interrupted, flicking the flame of his lighter on a cigarette that he put to his mouth. When he dragged on it, he smirked at Mickey. “What the hell got you to stop? Ian said you were an addict. You’re missing out on life, man.”

“Fuck off,” Mickey muttered and snatched the cigarette, taking a quick puff like it was his body’s natural reaction to having it in his face.

Mandy and Ian came up to them, Mandy snuggling up to Lip who didn’t seem to care a whole hell of a lot and Ian crouched in front of Mickey. He crossed his arms over his knees and cocked an eyebrow when he saw the cigarette in his hand.

“No, wait,” Mickey stammered, looking at Lip who was laughing, guessing the situation now. Mickey glared and didn’t have an excuse so he went with, “Well, fuck.”

“It’s okay,” Ian smiled. When Lip and Mandy started talking, he moved his face closer to Mickey’s. “You owe me later though.”

Mickey didn’t know what the fuck to take from that but at least Ian wasn’t pissed. He flicked the cigarette ash.

“So, can I keep smoking it or. . ?”

“Yeah,” Ian laughed, taking a drag from it before handing it back. He retrieved a lighter from his pocket and flicked the flame over the cigarette to give it more heat. It was Mickey’s lighter.

“We should make a new wager anyways,” Ian murmured, eyes up to Mickey’s, like a new bet entitled a lot more than simplicity.

“Huh,” Mickey smirked, thinking that Ian’s face looked damn good in the light of his lighter. That thought quickly dissolved because Mickey coughed on the smoke of his cigarette from the shock of it.

“Been too long?” Lip mocked next to them and Mickey shot him a dirty look.

“You can’t have this back though,” Ian informed, placing Mickey’s lighter back into the front of his jeans.

“It’s creepy as hell you carry it around,” Mickey snorted. Ian dropped his head on his knees that were pulled up to his chest.

“I treasure it.”

Lucky for Mickey, he already got the smoke out this time so he didn’t choke on it again.

“Do you think before you say that stuff?” he asked, not sure if he wanted to know the answer or not.

“I don’t have to. I mean stuff I say,” Ian answered with a shrug, smiling. Mickey fell on his back in the grass, defeated.

A firework popped off above him in the darkened sky. It skyrocketed, blew up, and trickled down through the clouds until it disappeared.

“Oh, fuck, they’re shooting them off,” Lip shouted, jumping up. Mandy ran after him to where the adults were laughing uncontrollably, lighting the fireworks.

Mickey stared up as more lights flew into the sky. They bursted, lighting up the night into an array of bright colors. He could practically feel the warmth from their glow, touching his face and arms.

There was the sound of Ian brushing against the grass, moving closer, so that he was sitting right next to Mickey, looking up at the show too. It dazzled Mickey, how watching some lights go off in the air took his breath away. It was beyond beautiful.

He could hear one of the drunken Gallagher’s trying to count down to the new year from across the field and then there was a ton of laughter. Mickey blinked, unsure of why people wasted their breath keeping track. He knew that every year felt the same and this year wouldn’t be any different.

Ian uncurled from himself a little and put his hand on the grass by Mickey’s head. He looked down at Mickey as the family countdown kept going behind them. More fireworks shot out and cackled above them, loud and pleasant. Mickey’s eyes wavered from the bursting lights to Ian’s and his breath hitched at the sight.

When the shouting Gallagher’s got to one, Ian lowered himself, not quite touching Mickey with his upper body, but his nose brushed up against Mickey’s and then he pecked Mickey’s lips lovingly.

There was a roaring applause in the background but no one was paying the slightest attention to where Ian and Mickey were.

After a few heartbeats, Ian pulled back, his eyes heavy and happy.

“Now we’re even,” he whispered and if it weren’t for being able to read his lips, Mickey wouldn’t have caught it over all the noise happening around them.

Ian hopped up and disappeared, probably to go embrace his family for the new year so Mickey just stayed where he was, watching more rockets hit the stars.

There was a shift, some ripple in time this year that never existed before. All he knew for sure was that he didn’t regret taking Lip’s cigarette, not at all.

 

 


	21. Scattered Reality

Mickey had his back to the chain link fence by the school, finishing off a cigarette, when just the guy he was waiting for came out of the gate.

"Hey," Mickey called, throwing his cigarette to the concrete. The boy looked at him smugly, like Mickey better have a good reason for taking his precious time right now.

"Let's take a walk," Mickey smiled emptily, beckoning with his head. The guy seemed opposed but ended up going with Mickey anyways. After a few minutes, they entered into an empty alley.

"What the fuck do you want? Aren't you that fucking North Side kid?" he insulted Mickey bluntly, staring at Mickey as if he was a piece of gum under his shoe. Mickey set his guitar case down gingerly against the wall in the cramped space and veered back around.

"You're South Side, huh?" Mickey sounded out, looking him over, his lips curling.

Then his fist went straight to the other boy's stomach and the boy went down on his knees, coughing against his now scraped up palms. Mickey crouched by him and placed a delicate hand on the his shoulder, blue eyes wild.

"Give me a fucking break. You don’t have an ounce of street."

The boy swung out angrily but Mickey caught his wrist and then bent it back until there was a pop. As the guy yelped and screamed for him to stop. Mickey let go, stood up, and pat down his own jeans.

"Hey, bring your boys next time so this is more fun for me, South Side. You have more fun that way too, right?"

Mickey grabbed him by the scruff of his hair and lifted his face.

"You won't have any working bones left to run if you do, not like you did when you jumped Ian Gallagher."

Mickey released his head and watched as the hockey player bent lower to the ground, on hands and knees. He was whining in agony, staring at his shattered wrist.

"Don't you play fucking sports? You should be used to a little sprain. Get the fuck over it," Mickey grimaced and snatched up his guitar case. The jock just moaned in response, not moving. "Look who the fuck is bent over now," Mickey added darkly, cracking his knuckles, and walked by the crumpled form, back out on the street.

 

"I didn't know people actually studied for these," Mandy pondered to Ian who had his face buried in a bright orange paperback. He didn't answer, too immersed in what he was writing, until the book was swooped up from the table.

"A fucking SAT study guide? You are one dedicated bastard."

"Mickey," Ian sighed but he smiled anyways as Mickey put the book back in front of him. Mickey slid his guitar under the table and began reading his own book.

"Let me guess, even though we came to the library to study, that's pleasure reading?" Ian muttered, eyes back on his studies.

"What's your point?"

"You got perfect scores last semester without an ounce of study is the point," Ian groaned, irritated.

"Sounds more like a compliment to me," Mickey smirked, flicking one of his pages.

"Where the fuck did you have to be after school? Too fucking bad ass to be seen walking with us to the library?" Mandy interrupted, giving her brother a cold stare.

"Had business to take care of. Mind your fucking own."

"That's always a good sign," Mandy leered back and returned to her homework.

"The fuck you pretending to do work for? Does Ian still not know you're illiterate?"

Mandy jerked her arm out to hit him but Mickey dodged the attack and Ian started mumbling to himself so he could focus. She then looked between them both and dropped her arm.

“You guys should be spending your day off of work doing something fun, shouldn’t you? That hot boss of yours probably isn’t missing you,” Mandy murmured, penciling in some answers.

“What isn’t fun about sitting in silence and shutting the fuck up?” Mickey asked and moved back as she swatted out at him again.

They all read in comfortable silence for a while until Mandy went to use the restroom. Mickey glanced at Ian who was too deep in thought to notice. His eyes kept rereading the same paragraph, Mickey could tell.

"What?" Ian asked, peering at him now.

"Nothing," Mickey shrugged, pretending to read. After another moment, Mickey's mind wandered, something rare to happen when he was in the middle of a good book.

Fireworks, Ian's warmth radiating against him, and Ian's lips on his own. Mickey blushed, still foreign to the feeling, but not so rejecting anymore. If his fucking body was going to react idiotically than he might as well accept it and move on.

They didn't say much about it since and went back into their usual casualness but Mickey couldn't tell how that sat with Ian. If there was one thing he learned about Ian over the last few months, it was that he took everything to heart. He didn't brush shit off, at least never completely. Not the way Mickey did or tried to.

But what really sucked was that the kiss, their second kiss, wouldn't get out of Mickey's head. It wasn't like the one Mickey initiated ages ago. That was different. That was a fleeting instinct to make Ian shut up. That was Mickey sealing the deal with Ian so that he could hurry and forget about Ian's emotional speech, walk away from him before Mickey got too hopeful that there was light in the world after all.

But it didn't work. Mickey ended up wandering near Ian's street, drawn by something unreal, his footsteps taking him on their own. Then he busted into that grocery store and ripped Ian away from that pedophile, more angry than he had felt in a long time.

That was when it all spiraled. His need to fucking protect Ian. It frightened him, how much he felt whirling inside of him when he saw someone getting into Ian's space, touching Ian.

At first Mickey wanted to think it was because nobody was ever there to protect Mickey himself from the bad men so he made some stupid oath to make sure someone did for this kid. It turned into something else, something stronger and that scared Mickey.

He couldn't get attached, he wouldn't. But there came the invisible, otherworldly strings, leading him to Ian's doorstep, Ian's arms, Ian's heart.

Mickey couldn't fucking lie to himself anymore. He had something really special with this kid. Whatever it was, Mickey was afraid and excited by it, and even though he knew he was supposed to run, he couldn't stop getting reeled back in.

"You alright, Mick?" Ian piped up suddenly, concerned, breaking Mickey's train of thought.

"Huh? Yeah, dandy," Mickey brushed off, eyes back on the book that started to fall out of his hands. Ian nodded, believing him, and dropped his head back down.

After a minute, Ian's knee moved just enough to touch Mickey's in the seclusion of under the table.

Mickey stiffened, body warming up. He kept his expression stoic but nudged Ian's leg back lightly, eyes shifting enough to catch the soft smile that had graced Ian's face.

 

“Here,” Ian said, reaching his hand up to Mickey who was perched in his usual spot in the courtyard tree. Mickey shut his book and looked down. There, in Ian’s hand, was a shiny paperback.

“What? You need some help with your work?” Mickey questioned automatically, taking the book.

“It’s yours,” Ian laughed and that got Mickey to do a double take.

“The fuck you talking about?” he barked, looking over the cover. It didn’t take him long to recognize the title, considering Mickey had waited half a year for it to get released. His thumb smoothed over the author’s name, the author of the series Mickey had been reading for the last four years.

“What the hell is this, Ian?” he asked cautiously, his chest starting to swell.

“Came out yesterday. You didn’t grab it yet, did you? Mandy told me you never left the house last night so I hurried out to get it,” Ian answered, shrugging his shoulders like it was no big deal.

“I was too fucking tired to think about it yesterday,” Mickey responded truthfully and flipped through the book, holding on firmly to make sure it wouldn’t disappear. “This came out of your paycheck? You should spend your money on yourself, man.”

“Since I’m not giving your lighter back and you had to buy a new one, it’s only fair,” Ian retorted. He then scratched the back of his neck and turned away.

“Well, I have class in a minute. You should probably go too.”

“Hey,” Mickey said quickly, as Ian walked off, but when Ian whirled around, looking excited, he lost his courage.

“Uh,” Mickey swallowed, seeing Ian’s sparkling eyes. He couldn’t remember the last time someone got him a gift, especially not something Mickey really cared about, which is why Mickey wasn’t so good at showing his gratitude.

“I’ll help you out with that SAT stuff this weekend if you don’t got plans,” Mickey settled with but he wished he could splutter out more than that.

“Okay,” Ian grinned, happy as ever by Mickey’s offer, and then he went to class.

Mickey let his breath out and hit himself on the head with the present Ian got him. But he quickly regretted it and dusted the cover off, making sure it wasn’t damaged.

 

Friday afternoon rolled around and the tattoo shop was booked. Ian stayed at the store front because more customers came in when he did, as Vance put it, and Mickey was stuck cleaning the instruments after Vance finished tattooing his customers. Mickey lazily swept the floor, too beat to put much effort into it.

It was getting late outside and Vance went to count the money in the register in his office so Mickey glided around the corner to the front where Ian was organizing the inventory.

“You ever thought about getting a tattoo?” Mickey asked, tossing the broom between his hands. Ian looked back briefly and moved some of the piercing solution bottles in place.

“I don’t know. I feel like I would regret it like two seconds after seeing it.”

“That’s because you over think every fucking thing,” Mickey declared, going by Ian to sweep the floor. He brushed around mindlessly and moved his eyes around the drawings on the wall.

“I guess if it was special than that’s different from getting profanity on my knuckles,” Ian laughed and Mickey chuckled, despite the insult.

“Hey, people need to fucking know that they’ll get fucked up. That way later, they can’t say they weren’t warned.”

“You really going to get that on your knuckles, Mick?”

“Who the hell knows,” Mickey answered, falling into the leather waiting seat without finishing the room.

“You ever draw a tattoo? I remember seeing some of your art,” Ian wondered out loud from behind the counter glass, voice slightly muffled.

“Hell no. I mean, I guess anything that’s art can become a tattoo though, right?” Mickey shrugged, head falling in need of sleep.

“Okay,” Ian confirmed, standing up and tossing the dusting cloth he was using on the counter. “Draw me something and I’ll get Vance to tattoo it.”

“Ian, what the fuck?” Mickey burst out, sitting up. “You fucking kidding me?”

“I told you that if the tattoo is special, I won’t regret it,” Ian shrugged and he went to the back room. When he returned, he had a wad of cash in his hand that he stuffed in his pocket and then tossed Mickey his pay.

“I’m so glad he doesn’t write fucking checks,” Mickey commented, putting the wad in his jacket. They went outside and Mickey growled, seeing that it was pouring down rain.

“You can draw whatever the hell you think looks good but make it kind of sentimental,” Ian continued from their earlier conversation, indifferent to the rain. Mickey played with his coat sleeve to distract himself.

“I’m not going to draw you a fucking tattoo, Ian. My art ain’t so hot.”

“From what I saw scattered on top of your sketchbook, it’s fucking good, Mickey.”

Ian was smiling, like he already won the debate, and then he slung his arm over Mickey’s shoulder, dragging him into the rain. It was loud but it wasn’t cold, not as cold as it should have been mid January.

“We don’t have an umbrella so we’ll just have to stick it out,” Ian told him, pulling Mickey closer.

The rain soaked through Mickey’s jacket but Ian was keeping him plenty warm from it even if they were both getting wetter by the second. Mickey didn’t complain, figuring they might as well use each other for heat if anything, and let Ian bring him along towards the bus stop. It still didn’t change that jolt traveling in his nerves from being pressed together.

He kicked at a puddle, splashing at Ian, so that he could somewhat tame the drumming of his heart, afraid that Ian would pick up on it if they got any closer. They splashed at each other and ran down the sidewalk, chuckling under the rainy sky.

Mickey tripped and Ian grabbed onto him, so he didn’t fall in the street, and they both burst into laughter when a car zoomed by.

“I’ll fucking do it,” Mickey broke out suddenly, between gasps, and Ian ducked his head so he could hear him over the falling water. “Your tattoo, man. If you were serious.”

“You get one too,” Ian urged, really happy and flustered.

“Fine, asshole, but admit that I’m definitely not the one who’s hard to fucking please here,” Mickey shouted over the rain, amused.

Ian eyed him and reached his fingers out to brush them across Mickey’s damp hair, down to his face. His hand lingered there and his gaze didn’t waver, neither did Mickey’s, even with the rain dripping on their skin and under their eyes.

Thunder boomed over the city, rattling Mickey through his core but he was pretty sure it wasn’t the weather making him shake right now. Ian looked cautious, eyes shifting with Mickey’s, indecisive and uncertain.

And then Mickey silently understood that this hesitation was for his sake so he let his own eyelids fall and leaned into Ian’s gentleness. Ian’s frozen hand moved carefully over Mickey’s face and back into his hair and Ian closed the distance until they were sharing the same air.

Then they were kissing through the thunder and lightning, blending into the rain.

Mickey wasn’t scared, not exactly, but he was shivering from the contact, the instinct to get away kicking in. What didn’t make sense was how his brain was overpowering that urge and well, he didn’t really want to get away from Ian.

The rainwater was swallowing them and Ian was pulling him in, against himself, and he was touching Mickey’s face and hair, softly but aggressively. It was like Ian was trying to control himself, contain himself, and Mickey was both alarmed and confused by it.

When the sound of screeching wheels on the road hit Mickey’s ears, the moment was shattered, and Mickey pulled away, his eyes meeting the headlights of a passing car. As the car passed along, it was a reminder of where they were and what they were doing. It drove down the street, disappearing into the mist, and the two were alone again. 

Ian was panting and looking at Mickey but neither of them spoke. There was a panic in Ian’s eyes as Mickey moved out of his touch and walked off, too afraid to face what just passed between them. He didn’t look back at Ian and turned the corner.

As he made it out of Ian’s sight, he grabbed his shirt and inhaled, shutting his eyes so that his heart would calm down. 


	22. Promising Forever

Mickey was laying out on the floor, connecting dots on the ceiling, as he listened to Ian list out some math sequences from his SAT guide. He was about to work out the problem with him but Ian made a small sound of happiness.

“I got this one,” he said, scribbling. Mickey tucked his arms behind his head and pulled a knee up so it was upright from the floor.

“Man, you used to have steam coming from your ears over this kind of stuff. You’re getting pretty good,” Mickey mumbled, genuinely impressed.

“I’ll let you know if it gets hard,” Ian responded, writing more. Mickey pursed his lips, trying to come up with something to do. It was relaxing just lazing around while Ian worked but he was itching to do something productive.

“Ran out of stuff to read already?” Ian asked subtly, erasing something he wrote down.

“Yeah. That book you picked out was fucking fantastic. I reread it like three times.”

“What? You’ve barely had it for a week,” Ian gawked.

Mickey rolled over and put his head on his forearm, mind racing with what to do. Lip was back at college and the other brother, the little thug, was off shanking someone for all Mickey knew.

They were alone and being alone with Ian ever since that little rain make out was like having a plastic bag over his head until he was slowly running out of air.  

“Why are you doing all of this, Ian?” he asked quietly, wanting to ease up this tension. He wondered if Ian would tell him to shut up so he could do his work. Ian didn’t though, of course he didn’t, and glanced up.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, why do you give a fuck about the SAT so much? You really want to slave for four years at college like you did in highschool? You want to follow Lip’s footsteps or some shit?”

“I want more than here,” Ian answered, his tone softening. “I don’t want to be stuck on the street or cleaning counters forever.”

“So, you’re going to really go through with this then?” Mickey muttered and Ian nodded.

“Yeah, I already did some applications. I need to take this SAT before I can send them though. My grades are pretty good this year and brought me up to a decent gpa. Plus, I don’t mind being in debt if I can get out of here for a bit.”

Mickey peaked up over his arm to see Ian was back to writing again. Mickey was lost in thought for a few minutes before he broke the silence again.

“How far are the places you picked out?”

“Most of them are a few hours,” Ian said mildly.

“Four years away from this hell, huh?” Mickey grumbled to the floor and his chest went heavy. He didn’t know why but all his energy from a second ago was gone. He blinked a few times and his head started to ache so he slid off the floor.

“Good luck with that then,” Mickey told him quietly, “I’m heading out.”

Ian looked up, eyes confused, but Mickey shut the door on him and left quickly, not wanting to disturb Ian anymore than he already had.

 

Mickey was tired of feeling so fucking mopey. Ever since his conversation with Ian, he couldn’t feel very proactive this week. Ian was busy with his SAT studies and at work, their conversations were minimal because of job duties. Even if Mickey neglected most of his own.

It wasn’t a big deal. Ian was going off to college in a few months and Mickey wasn’t. He was going to clean up after people or some shit forever, probably. It didn’t matter, not really, he was better off doing this than living in his house for eternity. At least it was a step up from sleeping on benches, drunk and passed out, like before.

School and work, school and work, keep your mind off of it, he told himself. When school let out, he would be able to focus on finding another job. Not everyone wanted to go off to fucking university so you could screw around with drugs and booze and pay hundreds of thousands of dollars to stay up all night just to skip class the next day. He could do all that shit now if he wanted to, he didn’t need college.

What the fuck did Ian want to go for? Sure, he would be out of the city, get some life opportunities maybe, but what was so goddamn great waiting out there for him that wasn’t here? Mickey cursed loudly and kicked the trash can, forgetting he was in public because some of the people in the waiting room were giving him odd stares.

Ian looked at him from across the counter, in mid conversation with some old guy, and quirked an eyebrow. Mickey ignored him and stormed to the back of the store to sterilize some tattoo equipment.

“You okay?” Ian asked, popping his head in.

Mickey nodded and polished one of the paint guns, taking his frustration out. When Ian went back to work, he set the gun down and rubbed his temples. He never thought about all this shit before so there was no reason to do it now.

Mickey left when his shift was over and Ian came out after him.

“Hey, are you in some hurry?” Ian asked, trying to keep up with his pace. Mickey didn’t want to talk right now. Ian didn’t force him to keep up the conversation, getting the hint, but he pursued him down the sidewalk until Mickey stopped. He cut his steps short and took a sharp turn into an alley, reaching the end so he could climb a black ladder hanging from the wall.

At first he assumed Ian didn’t bother going after him but he heard the ladder shake and Ian was climbing up too. Mickey’s feet landed on the metal floor of the fire escape and he climbed the long flight of stairs until he reached the top. It was around twelve stories or so, pretty high, and now Mickey had a decent view of the city.

Ian caught up and halted.

“Mick, what the fuck are you doing?” he shouted as Mickey started to climb over the flimsy bars that kept them from a certain death.

“Chill the fuck out. I’m sitting,” Mickey glowered, lowering himself on the railing, dangling a leg over and pushing his other foot against the bar for balance.

He angrily grabbed his lighter out, a shitty one he picked up as soon as Ian gave him the okay to start smoking again, and lit up, using the strength of his legs to keep from falling over. Ian came up next to him and put a hand on the rail by Mickey’s thigh, giving him a disheartened stare.

“You said it was cool,” Mickey shrugged, instantly breathing in as much fucking smoke as he could get into his lungs. Fuck, he would never stop smoking again.

“What’s not cool is getting cold shouldered for days,” Ian spoke up, voice hard. Mickey chewed on the end of the tobacco with a scoff.

“If somebody’s ignoring you than fuck them,” he advised simply.

“So you want me to avoid you back?”

“Why the fuck is this turning on me, right now?”

“You won’t look at me or talk to me and I don’t know what I did,” Ian tried again, clearly not comfortable raising his voice but doing it anyways. Mickey breathed in the embers and made a couple of rings, watching them as they floated off into the purpling sky.

“You know,” Ian started, voice quivering, “I don’t fucking push you. I’m always careful, always watching out for the signs that it’s okay. I don’t fucking let you down. I also don’t deserve this,” he finished, somewhere between hurt and anger.

Mickey could hear the vibrations of Ian’s voice bouncing off the rooftops, resounding inside of Mickey. He gripped his cigarette tightly but kept his head up, eyes forward on the city.

“Is it really always going to be like this? No conversation? It’s not important to you?” Ian kept on, backing away from Mickey. “Just let me know when you’re done stringing me along, Mickey. Give me a heads up so I’m not in the dark forever, huh?”

“Are you fucking joking? What the fuck do you think this is? You say forever like this is one of your sappy, bullshit movies,” Mickey puffed out and watched more rings leave the balcony. He didn’t want to say that, no, he had to take it back.

“Alright, fine. Let’s dance around each other as long as you fucking want. I don’t want to inconvenience you or anything,” Ian laughed, a sad laugh, like he was giving up.

“I don’t know what your fucking problem is,” Mickey growled back, knuckles whitening on the bar he was sitting on. His knee was getting sore, trying to support his weight.

“Okay, Mickey,” Ian answered. He wasn’t angry now, just dejected and heavy hearted. “I’ll leave you alone.”

Ian’s footsteps were quick as they descended the fire escape, each step shaking the metal. The sound echoed to the sky.

Mickey dragged on his cigarette again and tried to laugh, relieved that he was finally alone so he didn’t have to deal with that shit. But he didn’t laugh, the smoke trailed from his mouth and he exhaled, unsteady.

“You’re already leaving me alone,” Mickey mumbled weakly, reaching up to rub his eye with the hand holding the cigarette. Great, now the world could see how powerless he was over his own emotions. He angrily swiped again, feeling the dampness from the edge of his eye against his thumb. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Mickey dropped the cigarette, not even watching as it fell, forgotten. He hopped off from the rail and palmed at his eyes.

“Stop, fuck,” he huffed, pushing against his eyes like it would keep them dry. He didn’t shed a tear when his father slammed his face against the wall last week. Not when his uncle canceled the visit on Christmas to tour with his band. Not when his mom left a drunken voice mail on his phone about how much she missed and loved him.

So, why the fuck would he cry now?

He peeled his hands from his eyes, thinking it was pointless since the tears didn’t want to stop. Mickey would cry and it would be done, that’s all that needed to happen and nobody would see, nobody would care. That was fine with him.

He made a small sound in the back of his throat when he saw Ian leaning against the wall, arms crossed, face grim.

“Tell me not to leave,” Ian whispered and it was obvious he was trying to keep his voice in check, trying to keep himself steady at the wall, away from Mickey.

Shameful, Mickey averted his eyes and swiped at them but it didn’t stop that same choking sound from creeping up into his throat again.

“Say it,” Ian demanded, remaining firm, but Mickey could hear that it was a front and he was hurting too.

He could have meant he wanted Mickey to ask him not to leave him alone to cry, not to leave off for college, not to leave Mickey’s side for someone better. Either way, Mickey gulped down his pride and found his voice.

“Sorry,” Mickey stammered quietly, “Don’t leave.”

Ian was off the wall, swiftly making his way up to Mickey. He crashed Mickey against him and kissed his hair, his tears, and the bridge of Mickey’s nose.

“You should know by now that I can’t,” Ian said sweetly and Mickey was so scared of those words.

Ian was promising him forever so easily, promising loyalty, and so much more that neither of them would say. 


	23. Candle in the Dark

“Take the SAT with me.”

Mickey didn’t look at Ian when he said it. He leaned further back into the chain link fence, the only thing keeping him from toppling over the rooftop. Ian was standing up, looking out across the horizon, his face away from Mickey.

“I’m not taking the fucking SAT, man,” Mickey drawled and tried to light a cigarette but his lighter was out of fuel. He flicked it a few times but no flame came out. “Shit, goddamnit.”

“I’m not joking around, Mickey, come take it with me. You don’t even need to study so what’s the big deal?”

“I’m not going to fucking take it, Ian. College is a waste of time.”

“Then sitting up here is a waste of time,” Ian shot back, kicking the fence just slightly, enough to make it bend and snap back into place.

“I think this is a pretty good use of fucking time,” Mickey answered and he was feeling really needy for smoke so he reached up and fumbled with Ian’s pocket.

Ian jumped in shock, clearly not expecting to get felt up, but his expression fell when he realized what Mickey was doing. Mickey retrieved his original lighter and put it up to the cigarette, smirking when the fire popped out.

“Why can’t you just do this shit at college then? It won’t hurt,” Ian continued, eyes back out to the setting sun.

“There’s no way in hell I’m getting into college. I barely fucking completed high school. It was my dad getting my records cleaned up, remember?”

“You did awesome this year and they really only look at Senior year anyways. Plus, you have flawless grades, Mickey. People would kill for that. You and Lip sure know how to throw good fortune out,” Ian sighed, not understanding. “I would be over the moon if I could just sit down and take a test without losing sleep over it the night before.”

Mickey said nothing, too enthralled by his tobacco. He made a throaty sound as he got high off the nicotine, knowing that somehow this cigarette was better because he used his own lighter.

Ian was suddenly in front of him, hands pressed against the fence by Mickey’s face, his fingers looping into the metal chain links.

“What are we gonna do then? Four years, Mickey.”

Mickey was in mid smoke so he let it out at Ian’s face, slow so he could buy time for an answer. Ian stared, dazed, and pushed himself forward so that he could breathe it in. Mickey calmly watched Ian inhale his smoke but his heart started thumping in his ears when Ian inched even closer into the secondhand, eyes wanting more than that.

“You’re so fucking addictive, Mickey.”

He said it with lowered eyelids and Mickey could see a craving in Ian's eyes for something that wasn't the smoke. Mickey finished exhaling the hot vapor and as soon as he did, Ian went forward, eagerly hovering his lips over Mickey’s, his breath clean and cold in contrast to the warm smoke. Mickey’s irises dilated and his first instinct was to shut his eyes.

Then Ian kissed him.

Ian’s head swam and one of his hands on the fence moved over, against Mickey’s neck to caress it. He could feel Mickey reacting, not quite as urgently, but he kissed back. There was an uncertainty about the way Mickey was responding but Ian knew it was because Mickey was still so new to all this.

Ian tried to control his raging hormones, feeling a bit bad for jumping Mickey, and eased up a little so he didn’t scare Mickey off. Their noses were still touching when Ian moved back, both of their eyes opening simultaneously.

“We’ll figure something out,” Mickey said breathlessly, probably referring to college.

Then he was the one to kiss Ian this time, still somewhat doubtfully, but Ian could feel that he was trying to show Ian something important. He was trying to pour unspoken words into this and that only made Ian want Mickey more.

It was agony holding back for so long, so it was no wonder Ian was becoming so feverish tasting Mickey. Unlike their other kisses, this one had more seclusion and it was getting more intimate by the second. Ian made a sound of pleasure but it was lost in Mickey’s mouth and he lowered his other hand to rest against Mickey’s thigh.

Mickey tensed and then softened against the contact. It was so hard not to touch Mickey too much because Ian really wanted to touch every part of him, clothed or not, but he knew there were limits. Mickey trusted Ian enough to let him do this so Ian didn’t know where to stop.

He didn’t have to because Mickey pulled back from the kiss, his lips and cheeks flushed. He downcast his eyes from embarrassment.

Ian didn’t even care that they weren’t making out anymore, too happy from what he got. This must be what Mickey felt when he smoked. Although, unlike Mickey, Ian didn’t get to light up whenever he felt like it. Kissing was a million times better than smoking, it had to be.

They met eyes and Mickey hid his face in his arm that was across his knee now, cigarette still dangling between his thumb and forefinger.

“When and where the fuck is this test?”

Ian smiled, sliding to sit with his back against the fence next to Mickey, removing his hands from Mickey’s body.

“A couple of weeks. You have to sign up but you can take it at the school.”

“Fuck,” Mickey muttered and he crushed his cigarette against the roof even though it still had hits left. Ian was giddy, hoping that Mickey must have liked what they were doing more. Mickey grumbled something under his breath and then he peaked his eyes out from where they were hidden to see Ian smiling at him.

“Let’s fucking do it.”

 

So, there Mickey was, in Ian’s room, fucking glancing over the SAT study guide that was another limb to Ian at this point. He fumbled through the pages, scanning and taking in the gist of whatever this test was expecting from him. It wasn’t all that hard but he tried not to think like that when he saw how much effort Ian was putting into this.

“I wish I was smart,” Ian muttered suddenly. The frustrated with the problems was clear on his faceas he pushed the book aside. He looked like he was on the verge of breaking down, leaning back against the wall, sitting on his bed, eyes shut. Mickey hopped up from his spot on the floor and leaned his elbows on Ian’s bed.

“There are nine types of intelligence, man. Two of them are stupid as fuck so let’s just say there’s seven,” Mickey broke out, keeping his knees planted on the floor.

“What are they?” Ian asked, still tired and irritated.

“Linguistic, knowing words and how to use them. You’re a writer so you’re pretty fucking linguistically intelligent,” Mickey explained. Ian slid an eye open.

“Go on,” he said slowly, features softening. Mickey smirked.

“You mean tell you about how fucking smart you are or tell you the other types?”

“The other ones, I guess,” Ian laughed, clearly amused.

“Then there’s Math smarts, numbers and shit.”

“That’s all you,” Ian grinned, rolling his head to the side to get a better view of Mickey. Mickey threw him a cocky smile but didn’t comment on it.

“Spatial intelligence is like artists and architects who can think in three dimensions. I guess your boss would count for this one. Music is one too but I think it’s pretty self explanatory.”

“Both of those are all you,” Ian sighed, “And Vance is your boss too.”

Mickey flung himself up on Ian’s bed.

“I’m my own fucking boss,” he countered, heel of his hand pressed into the mattress. Ian said nothing, biting his lip to keep from making a smart remark, and waited for him to go on.

“Kinesthetic intelligence is being good at physical shit like dancing or sports. Doesn’t fucking sound a lot like me, does it? You have me beat on that one.”

“I don’t dance,” Ian chuckled. Mickey pulled a knee up to his chest, his shoe hitting Ian’s foot.

“Hey, get your shoes off my bed,” Ian scolded lightly. Mickey threw the shoes off so he could continue.

“Yeah, but you do that army stuff at school. Don’t you guys have to wave those guns around and shit? Takes some skill, man.”

“Alright, what else?” Ian asked, leaning forward.

“ _Inter_ personal and _Intra_ personal,” Mickey went on, tapping his fingers against Ian’s comforter. “Interpersonal is knowing people and what the fuck they’re thinking about. It’s when you can really get inside someone’s head and fuck around if you want.”

There was a fleeing moment where their eyes met but Mickey broke the contact quickly.

“Then there’s intrapersonal-”

“You didn’t say if I was good at that,” Ian interjected, a coy smile on his lips.

“Fucking decide for yourself,” Mickey answered gruffly but Ian still held that knowing smile. Mickey swiped at his lower lip in annoyance and kept going.

“Intrapersonal is self smart. Like knowing what you want in life and how to deal with yourself, shit like that.”

“I definitely win in that one,” Ian smiled softly and Mickey scoffed.

“I fucking know myself.”

“That statement just proves me right even more,” Ian laughed loudly, clutching his own stomach. Mickey blushed and crawled forward so he could sit against the wall with Ian.

“You don’t know shit.”

“Apparently I do. I got four out of seven over you,” Ian smirked slightly, still chuckling. After a few more breaths he added, “what about the other two?”

“One is when you relate to nature. Like who the fuck cares what a rock means? It’s a rock.”

“Maybe the rock cares,” Ian shrugged, baffled.

“Shut up with that interpersonal bullshit,” Mickey demanded with a smile. “The other is how smart you are at contemplating the meaning of existence. I mean, fuck, we all live and die, not much brain power needed to figure that out.”

“There’s a lot more to it than living and dying, Mick,” Ian murmured, looking at the ceiling.

“Fuck, Ian. Do you have to be so optimistic all the time? It wears me the fuck out.”

“Really? I would get tired of waking up if I didn’t care about anything,” Ian answered but he seemed to regret it and shut his jaw, hurriedly turning his head to Mickey.

“I didn’t mean-”

“Doesn’t matter,” Mickey responded, “It’s not like you’re wrong.”

“Yeah, I am wrong. I know you don’t just think about dying, Mickey.”

“I don’t have a fucking purpose,” Mickey said bitterly and put his head against the wall.

“I want to get out of this part of Chicago and start doing shit I want to do, that’s my direction not my purpose,” Ian exclaimed, shifting his position on the bed. He took in a breath and turned his face so that he was staring ahead.

“Who knows where we’ll both be in a few years, you know? College seemed like the best goal for now but what about after that? Anything can happen tomorrow, tonight, you never know. I just want to wake up and know that I’m moving towards something, even if it doesn’t seem so big right now. It’s something and that’s all I need.”

“You make it sound like a walk in the goddamn park,” Mickey snorted and Ian laughed.

“It’s only hard if you let it be. All you have to do is make a goal for yourself and stick with it. If you don’t give up, even when it’s hard, you’ll make it somehow. It’s worked for me so far.”

That constant, heavy weight in Mickey’s body was lifting from Ian’s even voice. He felt, suddenly, light as air, like he would go up into the roof any second.

“Come with me,” Ian said and nudged Mickey’s shoulder with his own. Mickey blinked at the wall and then glanced at Ian who looked as if he had never been more serious in his life. Mickey swallowed.

“Why do you have to look so fucking-”

Mickey stopped his sentence and his heart fluttered. Ian’s eyes were bright, hopeful, and fragile, like whatever Mickey said right now would make or break him.

“You always-”

The words hitched again, they just wouldn’t come up his throat, so Mickey dipped his head down into his arms. Ian’s warmth next to him was a reminder that he wasn’t alone anymore and Ian was giving him a candle to walk through the dark with. All this time, Ian was like a lantern, guiding Mickey through the never ending fog, leading him to air he could breathe.

Mickey was glad that he didn’t run away from that light long ago. Ian was his direction.

Mickey inhaled against the crook of his elbow, not sure if he should be laughing or crying.

“Fuck, Ian," he sighed, "I’ll fucking follow you anywhere.”


	24. Hurry and Thank Me

Mickey said he would follow Ian anywhere.

Ian sat up, eyes heavy from not getting enough sleep. Mickey left hours ago but he could still feel him in his bed, like the places Mickey touched were radiating heat. He still couldn’t believe that Mickey and him were. . . Ian didn’t have a name for it but he knew it was something he longed for.

It wasn’t just a need for Mickey, it was a need for what they were. It wasn’t just a one night stand to fill his emptiness, being with Mickey was like coming up from underwater and realizing that he forgot what air tasted like. Ian bowed his head and smiled to himself.

Mickey was damaged, Mandy was right about that, but those scars could be touched up with a little help. Ian couldn’t wait to see Mickey and just the thought put him on cloud nine because he knew that Mickey wanted him back now.

Ian fell into his covers, his smile hurting his face. He couldn’t sleep, he was too alive.

 

At school, Mickey came up to him first thing in the morning, leaning next to Ian’s locker, his hands in his pockets.

“Hey,” Ian greeted, lost in Mickey’s eyes. He put some textbooks in his book bag after taking them out of the locker and shut it.

“Hey,” Mickey answered lowly and Ian didn’t miss the color rising in his face. Mickey was too cute standing there without much to say, so bashful.

“My sister sends her condolences. She had to go see someone,” Mickey informed, unable to stand still.

“Is she good?” Ian wondered and Mickey nodded in reply.

“I guess she found a new fuck. I thought she was a thing with that college bitch.”

“Not official,” Ian shrugged, “Lip can’t commit. It’s too bad because I know Mandy is really starting to like him, more than he deserves.”

“Huh,” Mickey gruffed out, not seeming too interested in their sibling’s drama. They stood there in the confusion of the hallway as the bell rang, indicating there was a few minutes before they would be late to class.

“Want to fill her place for lunch?” Ian mused, noting how Mickey’s eyes flew up.

“I’m not sitting in the fucking cafeteria.”

“Yeah, I know,” Ian laughed, “You stayed outside even when it turned into the next ice age.”

“Those assholes might drop by if we sit outside,” Mickey grumbled thoughtfully, talking about his biker friends. Ian ducked down so they were eye level.

“What? You scared we won’t be alone?”

Mickey visibly blushed and backed out of Ian’s advance, caught off guard. Ian laughed as Mickey swept around, his back to Ian.

“Just meet me at the fucking library. You need to study.”

The school library wasn’t Ian’s favorite place, not nearly as nice as the city library, but he would take the offer since Mickey would be there. He would go study at a graveyard for christ’s sake if it meant Mickey would be there.

“Okay,” Ian answered happily, “Although I doubt I’ll be studying much. It’s like prison here with how much time they give us for lunch.”

Mickey’s shoulders tensed and he breathed out, “See you,” before stalking off.

 

The library was a little packed but Ian found Mickey lounging in a hidden corner, behind a bookshelf on the floor.

“You can’t be comfortable,” Ian laughed, seeing Mickey’s huddled form on the floor, tiny book in hand. “Did you even grab food?”

Mickey shrugged, not looking up as Ian went to the floor with him.

“Cafeteria food is shit,” he remarked and Ian laughed.

“Okay, but I’m pretty sure you live off of oxygen alone. I have to force you to eat when you come over. I grabbed something so you could have a meal for once in your life.”

Mickey seemed bored by whatever Ian was going on about it until he felt the steam from a fry that Ian waved in front of his face. The fry was plump and a speck of salt fell off of it when he pushed it against Mickey’s mouth. On impulse, Mickey bit it, grumpily, and glared.

“Call this a fucking meal?”

“How was your first experience with food, Mickey?” Ian asked, ignoring him.

“Fuck you.”

“Please do,” Ian responded with a smirk and finished the fry off for Mickey, licking the salt from his lips. It wasn’t until he caught Mickey staring at him, wide eyed, that he realized what he said and burst into a fit of laughter.

“Sorry, that came out wrong.”

“How the fuck else was it supposed to come out?”

“I don’t know, take another fry,” Ian grinned, feeding Mickey straight away who didn’t oppose. He lowered his book to his lap and ate the fry from Ian’s hand as if they did this every day. They heard a rustling sound and both turned to find some kid in a baseball cap, messing around with the books on the shelf. He stopped when he noticed them and straightened up.

“Ian?” the kid asked when his eyes focused and shoved a book in between a couple others, “Hey, man, what’s up?”

“Hey,” Ian greeted, dropping his hand since Mickey finished off the fry. This was the guy Ian never banged after that little wager with Mickey.

“Why are you guys hiding over here?” he asked and Ian raised his eyebrows, trying to hint to him why.

This guy was openly gay, not understanding the need to hide sexuality but Ian thought it was pretty obvious, based on his and Mickey’s current body language, why they weren’t in the open. If he could have it his way, Ian would show Mickey off to the entire school but he knew that wasn’t happening.  

“Oh,” the guy nodded, understanding, but Mickey was clueless, looking between them.

The baseball player scrutinized Mickey briefly before he crouched down in front of Ian. Mickey was suddenly hungry, snatching a fry from the cardboard in Ian’s lap. Ian flushed crimson because his hand was so close to his zipper.

“I have some friends who know that punk you got into it with last semester,” the baseball player started, trying to peak Ian’s interest.

“Yeah, what about him?” Ian asked, not wanting to give a shit but his body reacted to the mention of him, still angry that he got beat up on the street.

“Apparently, he couldn’t go to hockey practice since this semester started because of a fight. Someone broke his wrist and a couple of ribs. If you ask me, the son of a bitch got what was coming to him. He must have pissed off the wrong guy,” the baseball player grinned and added teasingly, “You gave him a run for his money yourself last year though, huh?”

“Glad he got his ass kicked,” Ian replied, perking up. The baseball player was clearly flirting with him so he tried to keep his charm to a minimum. He didn’t want to give the wrong impression off, especially with Mickey right there.

“Fucking deserved it,” Mickey muttered, eyes glued back on his not so forgotten book. Ian watched him for a moment until the baseball player stood up.

“Good to see you, Ian. Drop by and see me on the field sometime,” he smiled devilishly and Ian gulped. He would have jumped on that offer at the speed of light last year. Mickey made a throaty sound, like he understood what that meant but didn't comment on it.

When the guy left, Ian turned to Mickey who wasn’t really reading, obviously mind elsewhere. He waited for Mickey to say something but he was just blankly staring down at the page, eyes not moving.

“You fucking kidding me?” Ian burst out. Mickey made a grunt in response. “You don’t give a shit about other people, normally. You just happen to think this guy deserved to get beat up? Come on, Mick.”

“I’m offended,” Mickey started to smirk while Ian caught on.

“It wasn’t that long ago that I told you his friends cornered me, Mickey. You got in a fight with him?”

“Define a fight,” Mickey grumbled smugly, “that asshole sure as hell didn’t put up one.”

“So, you broke his fucking _bones_?” Ian gaped and Mickey swooped up, book under his arm, looking at Ian calmly. He had his eyebrows raised like he couldn’t believe Ian even asked that.

“You kidding me? Sure, I sprained his wrist but the rib thing was on accident.”

“ _Broke_ his wrist,” Ian clarified, jumping up with the carton of fries, “how do you accidentally break someone’s ribs?”

“I guess I hit harder than I thought,” Mickey shrugged, walking around the bookshelf corner to the library entrance. Ian went after him, stuffing some fries in his own mouth.

“I can’t fucking believe you, Mickey,” he said between chews, shaking his head.

“You want me to go apologize and pay for his hospital visit or something?” Mickey joked and Ian snickered, mouth full. They went through the doors, Mickey tapping against the wood mindlessly.

“I thought you would be all over this hero shit,” Mickey babbled as they went into the empty hallway.

“Why do you think I’m fucking stuffing my face? I would be all over you if I could,” Ian answered honestly, one fry left in the container.

Mickey stopped and turned around. He watched Ian dart his tongue over his bottom lip and smile up at him. When Ian was done swallowing the last fry, Mickey averted his eyes.

“Then fucking hurry and thank me before the bell rings.”

Ian blinked at him dumbly until what he meant clicked into place. There was a small silence between them until Mickey shifted, impatient.

Ian’s stomach twisted and he stepped forward, after making sure nobody was in the hallway, and turned Mickey’s face up to his own. Mickey blushed but shut his eyes when Ian brushed their lips together. It was salty, quick, and still foreign but Mickey couldn’t help but think it tasted so much better than the fries. Maybe even better than a good cigarette.

Ian was about to deepen the kiss but the bell rang out and Mickey jerked away, his knuckles up to his lips.

Ian smiled at the sight as the halls filled with people and they weren’t so alone anymore.

What had compelled Mickey to ask him to do that? Whatever it was, Ian wished they weren’t at school so he could bury himself in Mickey’s touch. Inwardly, Ian hoped that maybe his little slip up earlier about them being intimate got Mickey’s mind racing or maybe the flirty baseball player did it. Either way, Ian’s desires were rising, his need to get closer to Mickey growing and growing on the daily.

“Want to study after school?” Ian suggested, still smiling from the kiss.

“Yeah, okay,” Mickey answered, dropping his hand from his face. “See you then.”

Mickey went off and Ian thought about the first time he watched Mickey’s retreating figure, back on the first day of school. Mickey had been with some kid, most likely about to go do drugs with him, and he looked so rough around the edges, so far away from everything else, so unreachable.

Now there was more confidence in Mickey’s footsteps and his head was held high. Ian watched him go through the crowd of students to the door, not stumbling or shoving, just moving against the current like he always had.

But Mickey looked back at Ian, smiling slightly, before he moved forward, and Ian knew that with that smile, he was telling Ian that he had a destination this time. 


	25. I Want You

The sun was going down in the sky, creating shadows from the trees, which were still leafless since it was early February. Ian couldn’t stop staring at the space between him and Mickey, specifically the space between Mickey’s fingers. Mickey was ahead of him as they walked along the street, taking some kind of detour and Ian just followed, not really caring how long the trip would be because he could go anywhere with Mickey for as long as Mickey wanted.

What Ian still couldn’t wrap his head around was the fact that Mickey invited him over without reason or explanation, just asked if he wanted to come to his house. Of course Ian didn’t say no, even knowing the consequences, because if Mickey was willing to risk it, he sure as hell was. The first thing he asked was if his dad would be there. Mickey said he wasn’t sure and that he didn’t care.

“You sure about this, Mickey? If your dad finds out won’t that be a lot of shit to deal with?” Ian brought up again as they were nearing his street.

“I told you, I’ll deal with it if it comes to that but it won’t. It fucking won’t,” Mickey answered, sounding like he was convincing himself more than anything.

“Are you sure that you’re sure?”

“Ian if you open your goddamn mouth about this one more time-”

Mickey paused and glanced back, his eyes going softer, but he turned his head so that Ian wouldn’t catch it. They were on Mickey’s street and Mickey looked around nervously, moving faster. As Ian followed Mickey up the hill to the Milkovich house, both weary of their surroundings, Mickey said something under his breath.

“I won’t let him hurt you.”

Ian didn’t know how to respond so he just followed Mickey up the hill and his urge from earlier became stronger. He wanted to hold Mickey’s hand, so bad, ever since they started their little journey after leaving the tattoo place.

They rounded the corner of the house, once Mickey checked for his dad’s car in the driveway, and went to the back door. The fountain was still running, not glowing yet since it was still light outside. Mickey shoved open the broad back door and checked to make sure it was clear before he let Ian inside.

The first thing Mickey did was snag a bottle of Gin from the kitchen cabinet and then did one more spot check of the house. Then they went upstairs and Mickey shut the door with a deep exhale, his back against the door for just a second. Ian stood by the bed and looked at Mickey who rubbed his face and cracked the alcohol open, swigging it.

“You don’t have a lock?” Ian wondered, unzipping his jacket.

“You think we would be allowed to have fucking locks, man?” Mickey asked, smiling, but it didn’t last because they both knew what that meant.

Ian fell back onto Mickey’s bed and he tried not to think about what kind of horrible things could have happened in this room. Instead, he focused on what he wanted to happen in this room, between him and Mickey.

“Yeah, go ahead, make yourself at fucking home, somebody has to,” Mickey grumbled, drinking more.

“Hey, don’t get too drunk,” Ian warned as Mickey didn’t let up on the bottle. Mickey pulled it away from his mouth and coughed, taking in a needed breath.

“You won’t let me smoke, you won’t let me drink, what the fuck am I allowed to do?” Mickey laughed, wiping his mouth with his sleeve.

“If you come over here, I’ll show you,” Ian said bravely, sitting up. Even though he didn’t have a drop of alcohol on his tongue, Ian himself was starting to feel buzzed just being alone with Mickey, on Mickey’s bed. He was ready to explode with all the lust he had to bottle up while being around Mickey at work and school, in his own house, and all this time he only had what, a few kisses with him? A few kisses that were cut short nonetheless.

Mickey looked so taken back by the statement, that he couldn’t even form a response. He just stood there, a deer in headlights, who apparently needed another drink because he downed the rest of the gin.

“You could have offered,” Ian grinned, rolling back and kicking his shoes off. Mickey set the empty bottle down next to his sketchbooks and while crouched, he got lost in thought. Ian was going to ask what he was thinking about but instead he waltzed over there and opened Mickey’s sketchbook to look at his drawings.

“The fuck are you doing?” Mickey snapped, reaching out to take it back.

“So, you can read my shit but I can’t look at yours?” Ian chuckled and that shut Mickey up.

Mickey’s art was amazing to say the least. There was so much detail, so much time put into all of them. Even though it all seemed random, not really themed, it was captivating. One thing Ian noticed was that none of it was in color, it was all black ink.

“Why don’t you start doing tattoos with Vance? Probably pays better,” Ian commented, in awe. “I mean, really, people would pay a lot for this stuff.”

“No, not if they knew what it meant,” Mickey sighed, shifting on his knees so his legs were stretched out. “That’s why I don’t want to do a tattoo for you. The stuff in there isn't flowers and dragons.”

“What it means?” Ian came back, eyeing Mickey who was rubbing his head and smiling, a smile most likely induced by the alcohol. “Mickey, you fucking downed all that shit, how am I going to hold a conversation with you now?”

Mickey moved forward, closer than Ian was used to, so Ian quieted and enjoyed Mickey’s hand on his knee.

“That’s when I was six,” Mickey said quietly, closing his eyes for a moment and rubbing his neck.

Ian glanced down at where he was pointing. The drawing was of many things that covered the page. It didn’t exactly have definition because it wasn’t a person or anything, just different lines melting, looping, and moving together. It was still somehow really beautiful. He couldn’t make out any clear objects but there were stories in the lines. They appeared tangled together, knotted but fluid as they were drawn closer to the edges of the paper.

“It’s what I drew when I saw my dad put the phone cord around my mom’s neck,” Mickey explained, like he just told Ian the day of the week.

“Excuse me?” Ian shouted, recoiling his fingers from the drawing like it stung.

“I caught them in the kitchen,” Mickey breathed out heavily, rubbing his jaw and still having trouble keeping his eyes open. The alcohol really seemed to have kicked in now since Mickey finished it off so fast.

“For fuck’s sake,” Ian growled, so pissed he wanted to crumple the picture up, unable to find it beautiful any longer.

“When he burned me,” Mickey laughed heavily, sort of a moan mixed with a giggle, and tossed the top drawing aside, revealing the one underneath.

Ian would have thought it was great if he didn’t hear Mickey say that. He could see lines of fire dancing across the art, like the flames were going to lick him if he kept staring. It’s all he could see as the words ‘burned me’ repeated in his head over and over.

“What the fuck are you talking about, Mickey?”

“The burns, man,” Mickey huffed and he peeled his jacket off. Any other time Ian would have gotten excited to see Mickey taking his clothes off but not right now because he was too afraid of what he was about to be shown. Mickey unbuttoned his shirt just enough to pull the collar back. There, above Mickey’s collarbone, were marks, like cigarette burns. The skin was dark red and swelled up, but it looked like it used to be a lot worse at some point, and Mickey didn’t seem to care much, shrugging down at the burns.

“I can’t fucking-”

Ian's words were cut off as he covered his mouth before finishing, feeling like he was about to throw up.

“What’s up, Ian?” Mickey asked, eyes hazy.

“You’re fucking drunk,” Ian coughed, squeezing his eyes shut. He had to bite his fist to keep from screaming, wanting nothing more than for that door to open so he could beat the shit out of Mickey’s dad.

His wish was granted because the door did swing open and Ian shot up off the floor and backed towards the bed so he could distance himself. He wasn’t very scared though, he was ready to fight this fucker. But it wasn’t Mickey’s dad, it was Mandy, looking straight at Ian and then down at Mickey, his shirt still half unbuttoned.

“What the fuck?” Mandy said slowly and her eyebrows furrowed. “Ian? What the fuck are you doing here?”

“Get out of my fucking room,” Mickey slurred now, trying to stand up but his efforts failed.

She saw the drawings on the floor and then put a hand on her hip, picking up Mickey’s empty alcohol bottle.

“Ian, I told you not to do this,” she scolded but was staring at Mickey, worried.

“It isn’t what it looks like,” Ian sighed, wanting to rephrase that because it sounded like such a lie. Mandy walked over and grabbed Ian’s hand so she could drag him out of the room and shut Mickey’s door.

“He’s a mess,” Mandy said instantly when they were in the hall. Ian squeezed her hand but she dropped it, hurt and angry.

“You don’t want me over but he does, who cares?” Ian asked, not knowing what he should even be defending himself for.

“That’s because he doesn’t fucking care about you the way that I do. Don’t play favorites, Ian.”

“Are you kidding me, Mandy?”

“If my dad shows up and finds you, he will hurt you and then he’ll hurt Mickey. I’ve seen it, I’ve lived it. Do you just pretend you don’t see what he’s put Mickey through?”

“If anything, I can’t stop seeing it!” Ian yelled and Mandy twitched, not used to that. Ian looked back at Mickey’s closed door and then at Mandy again. “If I could I would go back in time and take you and Mickey away from this shit but I can’t do that. I never abandoned you, even after you tossed me to the curb so many times for all those guys who didn’t look twice at you. I never left you in pieces when they broke your heart because you’re my best friend. Now, you’re asking me to do that to Mickey?”

She was speechless, her eyes wide from the shock. Ian gasped and looked down, not sure how to recover after blurting that out to her.

“Sorry,” Mandy gulped, “Sorry, Ian.”

He was about to respond but she cut him off.

“You’re right. Me and Mickey hurt people around us because we don’t love ourselves and we don’t know how to let people love us. I just wanted to protect you from Mickey but I couldn’t even protect you from myself. I’m sorry,” she said sadly.

Ian embraced Mandy, rubbing her hair and arms. Mandy swallowed a few times and hiccuped against him.

“When we’re done with school I’ll take you out of here. I’ll take you and Mickey and you’ll never come back,” Ian vowed hardly, “I’ll find a way.”

“Thanks, Ian,” she mumbled, even if she didn’t believe him, and they pulled away from each other. She smiled through her tears and wiped them, gesturing towards Mickey’s room. “Go get your boyfriend.”

Ian grinned down at her and dropped his arms, laughing.

“What? I have your approval to date Mickey?”

“Yeah, why not?”

“Well, it’s not like we’re exactly dating,” Ian shrugged, “I don’t know what we are.”

“Then hurry the fuck up and make sure you do know,” she threatened, whether for Ian’s sake or Mickey’s he wasn’t sure. As he turned around she called after him, “Mickey’s lucky you give a shit, Ian. So am I.”

“Same here,” Ian said back, returning to Mickey’s room. When he closed the door, he looked for Mickey and found him in the corner, curled up by the wall. Ian walked over and leaned down by Mickey who groaned quietly, like he was trying to greet Ian.

“Mickey?” he murmured, putting his hand to Mickey’s cheek so he could turn his head. Mickey’s face was hot.

“Hm? Ian?” he smiled lazily and his fingers found Ian’s, curling up in his palm. Ian just sat there, letting Mickey hold onto his hand, and he sucked in air every now and then as the time passed. He had to remind himself to breathe, not because he was feeling all romantic from Mickey intertwining their fingers, but because he would have a break down if he didn’t.

“Sorry,” Mickey muttered, pulling Ian’s hand up to his face, “Sorry, I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have anything to be sorry for,” Ian told him, lips tight. He couldn’t listen to this right now or he would punch a hole in the wall, maybe shatter all the glass bottles downstairs.

“I read your journals without asking,” Mickey groaned quietly, “I always hurt you.”

He followed up with a drunken laugh but it quickly turned into panting, a rapid and painful sound. Ian pulled Mickey up to sitting and when they met eyes, Mickey dropped his head to Ian’s shoulder.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Ian choked out, arms already around Mickey. They were quiet for a while and Ian thought Mickey went to sleep because his panting subsided into a gentler noise. But then Mickey’s hands blindly reached out, found Ian’s body, and wrapped around his neck.

“You happy, Ian?” Mickey wondered, voice humming, probably too drunk to even remember this tomorrow. Ian didn’t have to think about that or even answer the question because Mickey wouldn’t hear it, wouldn’t know it, probably wouldn’t believe it even if he was sober.

“You could never understand how much,” Ian responded, tightening his grip, face pressing into Mickey’s shoulder too.

They stayed like that until Ian's throat tightened and tears threatened his eyes. Mickey had endured so much, so many dark secrets that Ian may never know. The artwork and the scars were just tiny reminders of what hidden hell lied in these walls.

Then noise rumbled from downstairs, like hearty laughter and clinking glasses, as if a party suddenly started downstairs.

The door to the room opened and Mandy was there, face white and hand tightening over the doorknob.

"Dad is home, hide, now," she begged and then she shut the door and Ian could hear her going downstairs for whatever reason.

Ian stiffened. Hide? Where exactly? He couldn't really slip out the window, considering how high this floor was from the ground.

That thought was cut short because Ian felt Mickey brushing his lips across his throat then, so light and affectionate. Ian tried to produce a sound of protest because this really wasn't the time to fool around and Mickey was drunk, not exactly clear headed. Mickey pushed Ian with his hand at his chest, tangled in his shirt, which seemed to be a habit of his by now, and tried to get him up against the wall.

Ian felt himself going hot at the touches. As feathery as they were, it was still so weighted and pressing, so uncharacteristically needy. Ian's back hit the wall and his knees kind of dropped when Mickey kissed more skin along the underside of his neck, finding just the spot to make Ian suck in sharply. He really wanted to give in and enjoy this but Mandy showing up, talking about their psycho father, kind of ruined that chance.

Ian tried to peel Mickey off, not very hard really, but Mickey put his arm around Ian's shoulder, lacing it behind him, so he could put a bit more force in the teasing of Ian's neck.

"Wait," Ian gasped out, warming in all the right places. It was just his neck but he never knew it was so sensitive before now. Most of his prior fucks went straight for his belt so this was completely different from what he was used to.

"Mick," Ian tried again, eyes falling to the top of his dark hair as Mickey started to suck gently on the dip leading to Ian's shoulder, deaf to his pleading.

"Want me?" Mickey mumbled softly into Ian's skin, his fingers caressing into the back of Ian's hair, where it was starting to curl on his neck. Ian wallowed inside, having a thousand inner battles with himself at that question because what Mickey was doing to him and so much more was all he wanted for months.

Ian was getting light headed, so focused on the fire Mickey seemed to be leaving across his shoulder. 

"I want you," he gasped out, too aroused at this point to even deny Mickey that much. He wanted Mickey, everything, his touch, his trust, his affection, his fears, his flaws, he wanted everything Mickey would give him.

The sound of Mickey kissing into the gap of Ian's shirt, against the top of his chest, drowned out the problem in the house downstairs, where loud bustling laughter was now evident.

Mickey's hair tickled Ian's jaw line and Ian smiled, lowering his chin to press a kiss to Mickey's hair, then Mickey's temple and lingered on his cheek, savoring the softness of it all. Mickey rose his head to meet Ian, tilting his face until their lips were touching and moving against one another, connecting and disconnecting with quieted moans.

Ian wrapped his arms around Mickey's waist and pulled him in, giving most of his attention to Mickey's inviting mouth as his hands roamed his hips and lower back.

Mickey was a little startled but eventually settled into Ian's lap, kissing him with as much feeling as he could get his working mind to do. He was drunk, out of it, but he could still feel what he was doing and what Ian was doing, even if it all seemed like a dream.

"I'm happy too," Mickey exhaled into Ian, gripping harder into the tangles of his hair and moving closer on his lap. Ian blushed hard, unable to answer because he was losing himself, going too fuzzy with Mickey so close, so open.

"And I want you too," Mickey breathed again, adding more pressure to the kiss, deepening it, arms shivering into Ian's shoulders.

That's when the door opened and Ian's eyes flew open. Beyond Mickey's dazed expression, he could see a tall man in a suit, stumbling inside. The man stopped to look at Mickey's bed but his narrow eyes didn't take long to find them on the floor. It was deadly quiet, so much that Ian's ears were ringing, and his heart pumped loudly, going way above the music and chatter from the first floor.

"So," the man said to them, eyes beady and dismissive, "My daughter isn't the only whore."

Ian moved Mickey off of him and stood up so he was between Mickey and this man who obviously had to be the Milkovich money making bastard himself, in the flesh. It was like seeing the boogie man before your eyes, seeing a monster you thought only existed to make it hard for you to sleep at night. Then you learned that monsters aren't mythical but they're real and so much worse than what you imagined.

"Dad, come on, they need you downstairs,"Mandy panted, appearing beside him with frightened eyes. Her face was red and her mascara was runny but Ian was too stunned to go to her aid.

"Who the fuck are you?" Terry slurred out, more drunkenly than Mickey had, starting to sway by his daughter, an accusing finger at Ian.

Ian himself was seconds from running up and beating those hollow eyes into his skull, but stayed where he was because Mandy was furiously shaking her head at him, begging him not to intervene.

"Who the fuck is he?" Terry bellowed, voice booming over the top floor. Ian didn't move from blocking Mickey as much as he could. Terry was eyeing them, trying to figure out what the hell this was.

"Dad, you got your big advance, remember? They're waiting to toast you!" Mandy shouted, so much fake joy and enthusiasm in her voice, Ian's stomach turned.

Terry rushed forward and reached down to grab Mickey by the collar but before his hand could even touch him, Ian grabbed Terry’s wrist and stared him down, showing with his body language that if that hand went anywhere near Mickey he would regret it.

“Ian, don’t,” Mandy whispered, running up between the two. She pushed her dad back towards the door as he blindly swung out and hit the air, wobbling.

Mandy successfully got her dad out of there and threw a glance back at Ian, urging him to do something because she couldn't keep him away forever.

When they were gone, Ian let his rage come out and punched the wall, his hand beating once it was done. He then crouched and lifted Mickey into his arms, letting Mickey hold onto him and breathed deeply against his shoulder as he hoisted him up. When he was grounded enough to carry Mickey's dead weight, he fled the bedroom and stood at the top of the steps, eyes on the front door.

Mickey groaned and hugged him around the neck and kissed his face lightly, before he seemed to finally black out all together. Too on edge to notice, Ian just darted downstairs, heart hammering against his ribs.

Mandy was at the bottom of the stairs now, glancing wildly around, until she waved her arm to indicate the coast was clear.

Ian almost hopped steps to reach Mandy and they looked at each other briefly before she swung the front door open and ushered him to leave. She kissed his cheek quickly and surprisingly, she kissed Mickey's, and then she pushed Ian along until he was on the front steps, outside. With a fleeting nod, a promise that they would talk later, she closed the door, and left him alone in the silence of the North Side night.

Ian managed to make it down the Milkovich house hill and to the gate without much to worry about but staring up at the tall iron gate, that’s when he realized there was a problem. He shifted Mickey onto his back but Mickey was too sleepy to hold onto him, so there was no way he could climb over.

Dejected, Ian instead found a secluded area in the woods surrounding the house, staying far from plain sight, and laid Mickey onto the cold ground. He took off his jacket so he could blanket the other, making sure it was snug and would keep him warm, before he huddled up next to Mickey.

He pulled Mickey into himself, holding tightly to stop his own shaking. He was scared for Mickey and himself and Mandy and all the horrors that were always waiting for them in the shadows. Everything he couldn't prevent could come in and snatch Mickey away or Mandy and turn Ian's world upside down.

Tonight though, they got lucky to dodge that bullet, more like a nuke, and slipped out of the monster's clutches before something terrible happened. Ian was so prepared to kill in that moment, ready to go to jail for life, but he was so happy he didn't or he wouldn't be with Mickey right now.

He sighed in relief into Mickey's curled form, letting the warmth of Mickey's body ease him out of his own shaking, not believing that he could be so glad to be away from something in his life. Also not able to process how he could be so grateful and happy to be with something else in his life, someone rather.

Even if Mickey was drunk, he was happy and wanted Ian, he said that. Ian tried to steady himself so he wouldn't cry and buried his face and body against Mickey, letting all his fear and happiness pour out silently, resting his soul until he didn't have any energy left, vowing never to leave Mickey's side, and fell asleep.

  
Ian cracked his eyes open and found that it was early morning. His body ached from passing out on the ground all night. The morning mist was against his face, surrounding him in this tiny area of forest outside the Milkovich manor. He sat up and wiped at his eyes, rubbing the back of his neck, remembering Mickey’s fingers dancing there last night.

Speaking of Mickey, he was sitting only a few feet away from Ian, smoking into the morning air, head turned but eyes on Ian as he sat up.

“You okay?” Mickey asked, looking down Ian’s arm until they were on his bruised hand. Oh, yeah, he punched the wall last night, that’s right.

Ian laughed lowly and sat fully upright, rubbing his injured hand.

“Just a scrape,” he smiled at Mickey who let the smoke from his cigarette go out into the pale sky.

“How bout you? You were pretty messed up last night,” Ian added, trying to decide if he should even mention everything that happened. Mickey smoked on the cigarette for a few more minutes and then put it out with his shoe, eyes looking across the trees.

“I remember,” he said quietly, blue eyes slowly finding Ian, “I told you my dad wouldn’t do anything.”

“Thanks to Mandy,” Ian snorted, “You were a little too passed out to really do much, weren’t you?”

“Yeah, but you weren’t,” Mickey relayed.

Ian blinked in confusion, trying to find what that meant. Mickey crossed the space between them, taking the seat next to Ian, leaning back into the dew covered grass. He tugged at Ian’s sleeve and when Ian looked down, Mickey was staring at him with so much underlying thoughts and emotions, Ian just let himself be lead down. Blushing, Ian rested his head carefully on Mickey’s chest and listened to his heart. It was going wild under his shirt.

“I knew you wouldn’t let him do shit,” Mickey grumbled.

“Yeah, I wouldn’t,” Ian smiled, still flustered that he was actually laying on a sober Mickey. He gulped and nestled himself closer, saying, “You still drunk?”

“Nope,” Mickey muttered, hand finding Ian’s back so he could gently rub circles against it. Ian peaked up into Mickey’s clear, calm eyes and flushed even more furiously.

“You remember everything, right?” Ian questioned cautiously and Mickey hummed his confirmation. Ian nodded slowly on the fabric of Mickey’s shirt and chewed his bottom lip. He rose his head and looked into Mickey’s eyes again, stuttering over his words.

“Are you sure? I mean, really sure? You were pretty out of it, I mean, it’s not like it was that important, but well, I guess-”

He stopped when he saw how Mickey gazed at him, how a faint smile was coming across Mickey’s face before he rolled his eyes and sat up.

“You need a fucking reminder?” Mickey asked lowly, arms loose around Ian’s back, the movement of his fingers stopping.

Ian looked between his secretive eyes and tried to squeak something out but nothing happened so Mickey laughed and leaned down to leave a gentle kiss against Ian’s neck.  

“Fuck you it wasn’t important,” Mickey muttered softly, coming back up, still smiling. Ian thought he might pass out from that look, the most carefree and loving look Mickey had ever given him, relaxed and one hundred percent trusting.

“Can I kiss you?” Ian blurted, still fumbling over his own voice. Mickey watched him, smile still on his face, and then he brushed his lips over Ian’s, fluttering his eyes shut. Ian felt the electricity tingling over his body as he hugged Mickey, pulling him closer, breathlessly meeting Mickey over and over.

They kissed, tangled in each other, until the mist cleared and the air warmed as the sky lightened into day above them.


	26. This Your Boyfriend?

Once Ian was done handing his college applications over to his guidance counselor, he rushed off to find Mandy. The scores finally came back this week and the first thing he did was send them off along with his applications. A smile was on his face as he searched for her because he did way better than he dreamed possible. He had espresso and Mickey to thank for that.

Mandy was sitting with a group of guys but as soon as she saw Ian, she left them, not caring that they were googling her ass as she did so.

“You got yours in too?” Ian asked as she ran up and hugged him. She nodded and they high-fived, throwing their arms around each other all the way to the bus stop.

“My SAT score was pretty shitty though,” Mandy added grumpily.

“It’s okay, it’s not like we’re going to Princeton.”

“Easy for you to say. You had a good score.”

“I also worked my ass off,” Ian replied, not wanting to put a damper on his own success, and then he unraveled Mandy’s arm from his shoulder when he saw Mickey and his friends talking at the school gate.

“Embarrassed your boyfriend will catch us in a scandal?” Mandy smirked and Ian pushed her lightly. She watched her brother for a minute and then looked up at Ian. “How was Mickey’s score?”

“Top notch, typical,” Ian puffed out while they approached Mickey, his crew looking at the two like they were lost. There were four of them, all late twenties at least and since Ian didn’t recognize any of these guys he waved awkwardly. Mandy didn’t, she went with putting her arms across her chest.

“Hey, fuck face,” she glowered once they got in earshot to the group. At first Ian thought that was meant for Mickey but Mandy was staring dead at one of the men in a leather jacket.

“Bitch,” he shot back, eyes daggers.

“Glad we’re all acquainted,” Mickey commented, smoking.

Ian shuffled awkwardly, knowing that in front of his friends, Mickey wouldn’t throw him any sweet smiles or peck him on the lips as a greeting. Not that they did any of that stuff on the regular anyways, but he knew not to draw any attention to their relationship in these situations.

“I’m Derek,” the guy who just pissed Mandy off for unknown reasons said, shaking Ian’s hand. He had a lot of cologne on, one of those scents that you wouldn’t find on a kid in high school. Ian wondered if Mickey actually knew any teenagers besides him and Mandy at this point.

“We’re in your uncle’s band,” one of the men said to Mandy, shaking her hand too. She smiled at him politely, fluttering her eyelashes and Derek looked away, more pissed.

“Have we met?” Mandy asked as the guy holding her hand laughed.

“No, but I know you’re Rick’s niece. He talks about you and Mickey all the time.”

“Does he? Wow, I didn’t know,” Mandy beamed, obviously trying to make a nice girl impression even if it was already ruined by her earlier outburst.

“This your boyfriend?” the man asked curiously, glancing at Ian.

Ian shifted, even more uncomfortable now, thrown back by the question because honestly he didn’t know what was supposed to happen now. There wasn’t really a game plan worked out for this predicament. He finally looked at Mickey wearily.

Mandy opened her mouth to answer but Mickey beat her to it.

“He’s mine,” Mickey informed, meeting Ian’s eyes, putting his cigarette out to him. When Mickey looked at him, it was like he was only looking at him, like there was nobody else around. He raised and dropped his hand lightly, gesturing for Ian to take the cigarette to which Ian compiled quickly. There was a glimmer in Mickey’s eyes, the corner of his mouth tugging into a small smile, and then he turned back to the guys, hardness back.

“That’s cool,” one of them said after a moment of taking it in. None of them mentioned it again as they went off into music ranting and casual chatter.

“You guys better come to our show tonight,” one band guy said after about ten minutes of conversation. 

“Fucking count on it,” Mickey retorted, sharing his smoke with Ian again. They all threw a couple fist bumps at Mickey and then they were gone. Mandy tugged Ian along so they could get to the bus on time and Mickey followed shortly after putting out his cigarette. 

The three walked in silence, Ian too happy to even speak, while Mandy was busty thinking about how cute the one with green eyes was. Mickey was watching Ian as they walked, careful not to get caught staring though, absorbed in how Ian was spaced out and grinning as if the world could end right now and be fine with that.

Mickey pretty much just announced to the entire block that him and Ian were a thing, even Mandy was there for it. It wasn’t like he hated the idea of it, the idea of them being tied to each other, even if Mickey himself thought labeling was stupid.

But when Mickey caught a glimpse of Ian’s unsure expression as soon as the boyfriend thing was brought up, Mickey knew that it was something he needed to establish right fucking now or Ian would be hurt.

God, he couldn’t believe this was happening. He was becoming so committed to this guy and it was something he had never mentally prepared for. How did a steady relationship work? What did Ian expect or need from him? What did he have to do so this thing worked?

Mickey blinked at Ian, keeping his pace just slightly off from him and Mandy now, getting carried off in his own head. 

Fuck, he couldn’t stop thinking about being careful to do what he needed to do for Ian. If it was up to Mickey, he would tell everyone to screw off because it wasn’t anyone’s fucking business what Ian and Mickey were. That's what he thought until he saw the hesitance in Ian’s eyes at the library, when that baseball player caught them huddled together, and the way Ian panicked from being questioned about being with Mandy. It was all those little gestures, indicating Ian was trying not to pressure Mickey. 

He couldn’t let Ian think and do that shit anymore. Their little conversation on the roof was proof that Ian was exhausted with Mickey’s wishy-washy shit. Even if Ian wouldn’t say it out loud or push Mickey, which they both knew he wouldn’t, Mickey needed to do something different. He had to fucking do something before Ian decided Mickey wasn’t worth it after all.

Mickey sighed loudly, earning him looks from his sister and boyfriend.

God, boyfriend, kill him now.

 

“So? What the fuck are you going to study?” Mandy asked, kicking Mickey’s shin under the dinner table. They made it a habit of eating meals together every now and then, just to remind themselves that they were just fine without a fucking mom and dad to in the house to have dinner with them.

“I don’t fucking study,” Mickey snapped, not really knowing what she was talking about.

“At college, dumb ass,” she shot, twisting her fork into the pasta on her plate.

“Who the hell cares?”

“Well, I’m going to take a shit ton of dad’s money after graduation. He won’t notice,” Mandy smirked, chewing on the Alfredo smothered noodles. “That way I’m loan free.”

“Fuck him,” Mickey snapped, “I don’t need a dime from the asshole.”

“You have too much pride, Mick. He beat the shit out of you for years. I think the least, the fucking least, that you could do to get him back is to steal from his bank account so you’re not swamped paying bills out of your ass forever.”

It was a good point, so good that Mickey actually considered her words. Before, he would have told Mandy to mind her business or fuck off, anything to keep her off his case, but she was looking at him attentively.

“Besides, you need some spending money so you can take your boyfriend out every now and then, right?”

Mickey's eyes flew up and he watched as she smirked boldly. There was a small silence where his brain was shooting off electrons, trying to come up with something to say back but his nerves seemed to end up at dead ends. He just jumped up from the table to wash his dishes, biting down on his lip silently.

“He might find a nicer piece of ass at college, Mick. You better be good to him,” she kept on, sounding a little more serious even if her tone was teasing.

Mickey was quiet as he rinsed the dishes, letting the warm water go over his hands for a minute. What if Ian did find someone else? College was swarmed with thousands of idiots who probably wouldn’t mind a good fuck with Ian. Probably some good fuckers with money and manners and they could show Ian a good time. They could give Ian a lot of things that Mickey couldn’t, that was a fact.

Maybe they would shower Ian with gifts and affection, give him kisses in public, do all that romantic shit that Mickey would never have the courage to do. The warm water had gotten so hot it reddened Mickey’s skin so he shut the faucet off and threw the dishes in the strainer to dry.

“That was really nice today, Mickey,” Mandy told him before he could leave. He glanced at her and then away.

“When you admitted that Ian was your boyfriend. That meant a lot to him, you know. He knows you’re trying, Mickey.”

It was like she could read his mind and figure out all the insecure shit that was going through it right now. She was always good at doing that, always reminding Mickey that he needed to push himself but also that nobody blamed him for the times he couldn’t. Mickey glared at her, ready to say something but he stopped himself. The defensive words that were about to leave his mouth got swallowed back up.

Ian told him once that he had to stop fighting against kindness, stop making others feel worse just because he didn’t want to believe it. Now, Mickey was seeing what he meant.

Rather than debate with her, Mickey snatched up Mandy’s dishes and washed them aggressively, a serene silence settling as he did so.

And it felt good to this, to show his appreciation for her words instead of fighting against them. There was no heat or tension, nobody was putting anyone down, it was just a calming silence telling Mickey that what Mandy said was true and what Ian said was true and that he would fucking try harder if he could keep having this comfortable quiet.

The storm that normally raged in his chest was slowing down. Mandy must have seen that because she smiled softly and rubbed a hand over his shoulder before she went upstairs.

 

The leaves on the trees were blooming back, lush greens and stunning golds, and flowers were starting to pop up everywhere. White petals scattered from the trees and covered the ground as Ian walked across the courtyard. It was early March, about time too, since Ian was sick of bundling himself up every morning before school.

It was lunch period and there was Mickey, sitting under his favorite tree with a thoughtful expression. He wasn’t reading and his guitar wasn’t with him today, he was just sitting with his knees to his chest, rubbing a few petals of flowers between his fingers.

“Hey,” Ian greeted happily, turning his head. “You seen Mandy?”

“She’s off with that guy from the band,” Mickey answered, still sounding not quite there.

“Which one? That Derek guy? She looked like she was going to take a bat to his head last time.”

“Nope. The other one,” Mickey confirmed, eyes not moving.

Ian sat down in front of Mickey and dropped his book bag next to him. Mickey’s eyes were even prettier today, matching the vivid blue of the sunny sky above them, and there were a couple of stray creamy petals lost in his dark hair.

Ian smiled and reached out to brush them out, happy that Mickey didn’t flinch away from the touch, and let his fingers linger in the soft hair for a moment before he remembered they were in public and pulled back.

There were a lot of people eating lunch outside today since the weather was clearing up but for Ian, he could only feel Mickey out here with him. If only Mickey felt that way too so that he could forget about everyone else.

Ian let his hand fall to Mickey’s knee and he brushed his thumb over the skin showing where Mikcey's jean was ripped. He waited for a reaction but Mickey just stared at nothing really.  When Mickey spoke up Ian slid his hand away.

“Are you and my sister going to the same college?”

Mickey wasn't meeting his eyes, hands still fumbling with the flower petals falling from above them. Ian pondered that for a minute and shrugged.

“We applied for some of the same ones. I don’t really know where I can go yet. It depends on what I get in the mail.”

Mickey turned his head and nodded.

“I gave you my list,” Ian smiled, deciding he wanted to touch Mickey again and brushed the knuckles of his fingers against Mickey’s knee another time. “Just pick where you want to apply.”

“I already did it,” Mickey responded, still not paying much attention to Ian’s touches.

“Really?” Ian asked quickly, hand fully on Mickey’s leg now.

“Yeah,” Mickey answered quietly but there was still that distant sound in his voice. Ian could feel that change in the atmosphere, like something was separating them instead of making them closer.

“Um,” Ian coughed, “That’s great, Mick. I guess all we can do now is wait to see which ones we get accepted to.”

Mickey moved out of Ian’s touch and stood up, not even looking at Ian.

“See you later, man, I have to get going.”

“Where are you going?” Ian asked, shooting up.

Mickey didn’t answer and threw him a wave, walking off. Ian stood still and finally picked his bookbag up. He slung it over his shoulder but it wasn’t nearly as heavy as his heart felt. 

 

Once out of Ian's sight, Mickey exhaled and rubbed his face. What the fuck was he doing? Why the fuck was he feeling so down?

He was always so doubtful, always so cautious, about every goddamn thing in his life. He didn’t want Ian to be one of them, but every time he thought about this college thing, he felt more sick.

The closer it got to graduation, the more he realized he didn’t want to go to school again, it just wasn’t for him. He could breeze through college, that much was a fact, but Mickey didn’t want to be stuck in classrooms for another four years. He couldn't sit through this shit anymore. 

Whenever he got exposed to Ian’s excitement over them running off to college together, the more he didn’t have the heart to back out. Yes, he did want to go with Ian, he wanted to get away from his dad, he never made any of that up, but Mickey didn’t want to sit through lectures, stuck on a campus with a bunch of horny, snot nosed brats. The first two years would be history, math, all the shit from high school, and Mickey was so tired of it.

He rubbed his head and decided he would skip the rest of today. He couldn’t do more tests, couldn’t listen to more drone like voices from teachers who didn’t give a shit if anyone passed or not as long as they were being paid. Mickey wanted to throw up thinking about it.

How could he tell Ian that?

This was practically a dream for Ian and getting Mickey along for the ride seemed to make him an endless amount of happy.

Shit, Mickey really didn’t have a clue why he let this happen.

After hopping the fence that held him in this jail cell of public education, Mickey did the only thing he could think of. There wasn’t anyone to talk to about this except his uncle. His fingers were shaky as he dialed because his uncle always seemed so busy, too busy for Mickey, but it was the first thing he thought to do.

The other line picked up and his uncle was in mid laughter when he answered.

“Hey? Mickey?”

“Hey,” Mickey murmured, trying to hide his shakiness. He didn’t want to reveal how in the dumps he was getting.

“Mickey? You okay?”

Oh shit, it looks like he wasn’t as cool as he tried to be. Mickey put the phone away from his face and inhaled deeply to steady himself before he talked into the receiver again.

“Could I come over for a bit, Rick?”

“Of course,” his uncle answered quickly, probably hearing the urgency in Mickey’s voice. “I’ll come pick you up. Aren’t you still in school right now?”

“I’m skipping,” Mickey responded bluntly. His uncle laughed.

“Mickey, finish classes. I won’t be there for a almost an hour anyways, right?”

There it was. As collected and chill of a guy his uncle was, hell this guy did weed with his own kid, he always said school came first. Maybe that’s what got the guy's son to go for teaching since he grew up with a dad that put it first every second.

Why was it that everyone suffocated Mickey about school? Why did they care so fucking much if he went to school or not?

For a small moment, Mickey thought about Lip, that cocky older brother of Ian’s. He was in college now but according to Ian, there was a time where he fought against it. Maybe he felt the way Mickey was feeling now.

“Fine,” Mickey dismissed, not wanting to get into anything unnecessary as long as his uncle was coming.

“Sounds like a plan. See you soon, kid,” his uncle chuckled and as soon as Mickey’s hand hovered the ‘end’ button, his uncle interrupted, “You sure you're okay?”

“What?” Mickey asked, phone back at his ear.

“I mean, I should have came and got you for Christmas. That was a real shitty move on my part, Mickey. I’m really sorry that I let you down.”

It was so out of the blue that Mickey was struck without response. His uncle sighed.

“My brother is a total dick. I know he wasn’t there with you and Mandy on Christmas, right? He shouldn’t have had kids if he was going to throw them aside.”

Mickey just let him continue, not knowing what to say.

“I wish I would have taken you kids as my own. You and your sister are both really good kids, Mick. If you ever need anything don’t hesitate to call me, got that? I promise I won’t let you down again like I did then. I’m sorry for not being around-”

“Stop,” Mickey interrupted, face flaring up. It was weird hearing an adult take pity on him and apologize for shit that wasn’t his fault in the first place. There were so many things Mickey wanted to make clear but he didn’t know where to begin. He sucked in air and kept going. “You’re not my dad so don’t take the fall for the asshole, man.”

“Yeah, sorry, you're right. I just thought you should know that I'm here if you need it. Thanks, kiddo,” his uncle laughed. Mickey cringed.

“Save the 'kiddo' for your own kid.”

“Yeah, sorry,” his uncle sighed, “I’ll pick you up at the house.”

“Thanks,” Mickey responded and then the line went dead.

He looked back at the school now. He was missing third period but he really couldn’t give a shit either way. What the hell was he gaining by going back?

Mandy, his dad, his uncle, Ian, they were all trying to force this on him. No, Mickey’s dad was doing it for his own selfish reasons. Not Ian, not Mandy, not his uncle. It was time to start remembering that.

After a few minutes of staring, Mickey finally holstered himself back over the fence and walked across the school grounds until he got to his third period class.

When he walked into the classroom, the teacher looked at him briefly. She said nothing as he slipped into a seat in the back. For the next hour, Mickey still had the itch to leave but he didn’t. Class ended and he ran out. The halls were getting more crowded but he kept searching them until he found Ian.

Ian had his head down as he walked slowly to the exit door, his shoulders slumped. Mickey bit his lower lip and ran down the hall, looking like a maniac he was sure, but right now none of that mattered, nobody else in this damn school mattered.

He finally caught up and the first thing he did was sling his arm over Ian’s shoulder. Then he let his hand find Ian’s hair to ruffle it as sweetly as he could muster, panting as Ian looked up in surprise.

Maybe they wanted different things, had different dreams, even if Mickey didn't have any yet, but right now all Mickey could do was show that, at the very least, he wanted to be with Ian. Man, did he want to be with Ian.

“You okay?” Ian wondered, the sullen expression from before replaced by curiosity. After a short minute, that sad look disappeared from his eyes when he felt Mickey breathing heavily in his face.

Mickey knew if he kissed Ian and drew attention to them, people would give Ian a hard time all over again, they sure as fuck wouldn’t be giving Mickey a hard time, so he settled with brushing his thumb across Ian’s lower lip. That seemed almost as good because Ian’s whole face went red.

“Want to go see a fucking movie tomorrow? You know, now that you're not married to that fucking orange book anymore?" Mickey breathed out, returning his hand to his side. He blinked down, a little sheepish about suddenly running down the hall just to say that and awkwardly added, "I'll pay."

Ian blinked, clearly not expecting that. He seemed like he wanted to ask Mickey more, leaving a weight in Mickey's chest because he just couldn't bring out what he really wanted to say, but eventually Ian just laughed. Soon enough both of them were smiling at each other, walking out, Mickey’s arm still snugly over Ian’s shoulders.

For now Mickey would hold on, hope that somehow their paths wouldn’t stray from each other down the road, and he would try to find a way so they didn't, harder than he's ever tried in his life. 


	27. Have a Great Life

Mickey couldn’t help but notice how much Ian’s eyes were shining throughout their conversation in line at the movie theater. He seemed impressed by every small thing, like he never went to the movies before in his entire life. This was like their third time going this week. 

Either way, Ian was passionate about the popcorn, what seat they should sit in, and even suggested movie hopping more than once. Mickey didn’t mind much, he just listened to Ian babble the night away, glad to hear he was having fun. Meanwhile, Mickey couldn’t help but think about how it was getting closer and closer to the summer, graduation, and their future was like jenga, able to be knocked over and fall apart any second.

Then he remembered he was with Ian right now and shouldn’t be so fucking mopey over something that wasn’t for sure yet. Even if Mickey didn’t want college, he could still have Ian, right? Fuck, Mickey couldn’t believe he was becoming so dramatic and obsessed over this. He was getting to the point where his thoughts were consumed by what was going to happen with this college thing.

He knew that Ian didn’t belong to him or anything, it wasn’t Mickey's decision on what he wanted to do with his life, but he just couldn't stop imagining how fucked up the conversation would go about Mickey not wanting college. He was getting too used to the idea of being Ian’s though. . . Easing too much into what they had right now and afraid of it being pulled from under his nose so that he was left alone and a mess like before.

They ended up picking a horror movie because Mickey wasn’t sitting through another sap fest right now, and they slid into seats pretty in the far back.

Ian was already like a madman with the popcorn, dropping pieces all over his lap and the floor, not seeming to care much. Mickey suspected that growing up in a house with a hundred siblings probably made you not care too much about table manners. There was something honest about it Mickey liked, even if he was somewhat of a slob.

“Hey, you know any actors in this thing?” Ian asked in a low voice, creeping just a little closer to Mickey’s ear.

“Nope,” Mickey shrugged, picking a couple of buttery popcorn pieces off the top of the bag.

“She’s a babe,” Ian commented during the opening scene. As the scene progressed and another actor came up, Ian whispered, “He’s a babe too.”

Mickey laughed a little, glad about the honesty. Man, he just loved how open and forward Ian could be because Mickey certainly was none of that. Mickey’s laughter quieted when he saw Ian grinning at him and he instantly sank down in his seat, putting his shoes up against the empty one in front of him.

As the film progressed, they were both pretty immersed, or at least Mickey tried to be. He was more amused by Ian, who would shiver and jump at all the obvious scares. It made Mickey’s mouth curve into a smile with every jump.

They shared a huge icee and when it was near the bottom, Mickey started to stand to refill it but Ian grabbed the hem of his shirt.

“You’ll miss what happens.”

“It’s cool,” Mickey shrugged, about to head out, but Ian didn’t let up.

“Don’t leave,” Ian whined lightly, “It might get scarier.”

“What? Are you six?” Mickey asked incredulously, smirking. Ian gave him puppy eyes and that did it for him. Whether Ian was faking it or not, Mickey sagged back in his seat, unable to believe how whipped he was getting. What the hell was happening to him?

Ian was biting his nails through one scene, pushing back into his seat like it would get him farther from the killer. Mickey couldn’t help but be way more entertained by him than whatever was happening on the screen. He kept smiling to himself whenever Ian got scared but as soon as Mickey caught himself doing it, he quickly frowned so Ian didn’t think he was some lunatic getting a kick out of all these murders.

Then something happened. Ian went deathly quiet and became white as a sheet. Mickey glanced at the screen.

The scene showed one of the actors, so emotionally disturbed by her friends being murdered in front of her, slitting her wrists to commit suicide. Mickey watched out of the corner of his eye as Ian stayed perfectly still during the next few scenes and all the expression he had before was drained from his face.

“Ian?” Mickey whispered. Ian didn’t respond, his bleak eyes staying glued on the screen, although it didn’t look like he was really paying attention anymore. Mickey sat up and didn’t know how to comfort Ian really or what the issue was. He just put his hand across Ian’s forearm, tugging him.

“You good?” he asked and Ian blinked a few times, registering Mickey, before he shook his head.

Mickey left the popcorn bag and drink and helped Ian stand up so they could leave. Once out of the dark room and in the bright hallway, Mickey squinted against the light and watched Ian make a beeline for the bathroom. Deciding to let him work what he needed to out, Mickey waited outside and when Ian came back out, he went up to him.

“You feeling alright, man?” Mickey questioned and Ian shrugged.

“Sorry I ruined-”

“That’s not what I asked you,” Mickey declared. Ian averted his eyes before he exhaled slowly.

“My mom, she just,’ he gulped, “she slit her wrists one year at thanksgiving so it kind of brought back some bad memories when I saw it happen to someone else.”

Ian seemed uncomfortable revealing that but after a few minutes, he looked relieved to get it off his chest. He then watched Mickey, like he was prepared for any kind of retaliation.

It then hit Mickey that it had always been Ian comforting, always Ian being the one to make sure everyone was emotionally okay and not on the verge of a break down.

Mickey swallowed and couldn’t find any words of wisdom or advice or anyway to fix that kind of pain, that kind of fucked up memory, so he he just let his fingers fall to Ian’s wrist so he could tug him forward. Ian looked at him briefly and sighed in relief another time, putting his arms around Mickey’s waist. They slowly settled into the hug and Ian let out a few deep breaths against his shoulder.

Mickey felt a weird happiness fall over him, even though he knew Ian was grieving over a bad memory, he was getting used to the feeling of touching Ian, in a way that showed he could rely on him. 

But then Mickey had to ruin it by letting the thought that’s been in his head all night slip out.

“I’ve been playing music with my uncle,” he blurted against Ian, biting his tongue once it was out. It had been a good month of visiting his uncle most days of the week now and he wasn't exactly sure why he was keeping it such a secret. 

"That's great, Mick,"  Ian hummed quickly, his voice still sad, but he was trying to put pep into it. Ian still held onto Mickey and breathed into his shoulder.

"Like playing guitar with him?"

“No, drums,” Mickey snorted but he couldn’t fake a smile like Ian was doing.

“Okay, great, you’ve been playing guitar with your uncle,” Ian chuckled, finally pulling out of the hug, ready for whatever Mickey was getting at.

“Yeah,” Mickey responded, shifting his eyes as Ian pulled away from him. That slip up was really kicking his ass right now.

“You were terrified to congratulate the guy on a good show before so I’m glad you're getting close,” Ian encouraged, still not quite smiling right, probably still off from the little movie incident.

“I guess so. It’s better than not doing shit at home,” Mickey shrugged, going around Ian to the exit door because he regretted bringing this up in the first place.

Ian came after him, spluttering some stuff about the film, probably just trying to fill up the weird silence, and Mickey did his best remembering what happened so Ian didn’t know he was preoccupied on well, him, the whole time. When they hopped on the L, they took some seats by the door, and Ian was still on about the movie.

“Why the fuck did he hide on the boat? He couldn’t even swim,” Ian criticized, snagging the window seat.

“Did you zone out on the part where the motherfucker was watching that girl strip by the lake? Why wouldn’t he get in the boat for that, man?”

“I’m guessing you couldn’t keep your eyes off her rack either,” Ian teased and Mickey laughed.

“Looks like your brother isn’t the only one worth a fucking scholarship.”

“I fucking wish,” Ian mumbled, leaning on the window.

Mickey stretched his legs and dropped his hands in his lap, looking around the empty train. The light outside was darkening, leaving the April sky a mess of bright oranges and dark pinks.

His pulse quickened when he felt Ian shift closer, knees touching, arms pressed together, eyes still out the window. Mickey lowered his head to stare down at his own tangled hands, watching as they visibly started trembling.

“Mick?” Ian asked quietly, even though there was like one or two other people sitting way down the compartment from them.

“Hm?” Mickey tried to answer back but it never quite left his throat.

“I’m glad I met you,” Ian murmured, one of his hands tracing the bottom of the window glass mindlessly. He watched the cars and roads, the train tracks and buildings, anything his eyes could find outside.

“You and Mandy are pretty much the only good shit that’s happened to me in this place. Well, my siblings are pretty good too but you know what I mean.”

Mickey stayed silent, still fixed on stopping the shudder going through his fingers.

“I don’t know what’s going to happen after this summer but I’m just glad that I got to meet you, Mickey. I-”

“Why?”

Mickey tried to tighten the hold between his hands and shook his head, hearing his own voice come out. Ian turned his head as Mickey continued.

“Why the hell are you glad that you met me, Ian? What the fuck have I ever done for you?”

He felt himself growing tenser and tenser, the words just flowing out of him in that way he hated.

“For fuck’s sake, aren’t you tired of dealing with my shit? You’re better off going to university and cutting every inch of South Side trash out all together.”

He didn’t even know what kind of point he was trying to make now. Go chase your dream, don’t look back, move on? Forget all the shit here and be happy by putting yourself first for once?

“What are you talking about?” Ian asked, trying to catch up to Mickey’s outburst.

Ian said he didn't know what was going to happen after this summer and truthfully nobody did but that got Mickey's mind whirling. There really was no forever.

“I’ve been playing music with my uncle because that’s what I want to do. I want music, I always wanted that,” Mickey insisted, hands shaking even with him gripping them so hard together.

“You want college and I don’t. I know I signed up with you but it was a mistake. I’m not going to sit around getting more bullshit education and a piece of paper that’s supposed to make life easier when in reality, it won’t do shit for me. I can read up on all that shit at the library, the fucking internet, it doesn’t matter. I can’t have someone on my ass about showing up for class all over again, stuck in a fucking building with-”

“Mickey, hold on,” Ian intervene. Mickey stopped talking and scraped his nail over his own skin in frustration.

“If you don’t want to go to school, that’s up to you. I know I came on strong before but I don’t want to force you to go somewhere or do something you feel this badly about. We don’t have to think alike, you know,” Ian finished softly and that agitated Mickey even further.

Mickey knew it all along. They couldn’t make this work, not really. Ian didn’t need to deal with fixing Mickey anymore, he had so much more to look forward to than that. He couldn’t worry about trying to piece Mickey together, that wasn’t his job and that certainly wasn’t what Mickey wanted him to do for the rest of his life.

Mickey took in a breath and felt blood against his tongue where he bit the inside of his cheek too hard.

“I’m going to ask my uncle if I can stay with him. I’ll get a job and pay rent, I don’t fucking know,” he grumbled furiously, his arms now hurting from putting so much pressure into his hands.

“Sounds like a good idea,” Ian replied, smiling sadly. He turned his head back to the window and silence settled over them. Mickey shut his eyes, the image of Ian pushing him into the fence on the roof coming into his head.

_What are we gonna do then? Four years, Mickey._

“You’re buddies with the guys in the band, right?” Ian inquired, his body now pressing into the window rather than into Mickey. “I’m sure you’ll like it over there, hanging out with them, probably get a decent job or start playing shows, something cool.”

And it killed Mickey to hear how genuine he sounded, how he was never offbeat with his voice.

“Probably,” Mickey retorted, stiffening. “And you’ll spend all night studying, go to some parties, get high as a kite, maybe get a good fuck while you’re there, probably more-”

“Fuck you, Mickey,” Ian snapped, straightening up his posture.

“Plenty of dick there,” Mickey continued, having trouble getting air in his lungs.

“You’re fucking serious?” Ian laughed, leering at Mickey. “You have got to be kidding me.”

“You have your shit and I have mine. I guess, that’s how it is,” Mickey solved, lighting a cigarette from his coat, not giving a shit about the CTA rules right now. The white noise of the train on the tracks wasn’t as pleasant as it should have been, it was so loud and unbearable against Mickey’s ears.

“That’s how it is,” Ian echoed, expression going hard.

The L slowed then, ready to make a stop. It wasn’t even close to Ian’s street but he flew up and to the door, waiting anxiously for it to open up.

Mickey watched him, feeling the tar from his cigarette going into his collapsing lungs, feeling his cramped hand start to move off of his lap, feeling Ian slip away. The train door glided open and Ian looked back.

“We could have tried, at least, fuck,” he said heavily, voice cracking through the words. “If you didn’t want to, I could deal with that but I can’t deal with your bitterness and anger anymore, Mickey.”

He stopped, hand on the train door, somber eyes locking with Mickey’s.

“Have a great fucking life.”

Ian stepped off and Mickey’s eyes stayed on the space where he left. He looked down at his cigarette, at his hand that now had white lines where he dug his nails in earlier, and took another long drag.

Why the fuck was he kidding himself? Like Ian Gallagher would have been happy with him. In what fucking world would they have worked out?

Mickey laughed against the cigarette, almost coughing from inhaling too much smoke. Then the train moved again and he stood up, moving to the shut door slowly. He reached up and touched the glass, spreading his fingers across it in a fluid motion, eyes darting outside.

Ian was long gone.

  
  
  
  



	28. You Know Why

“Did you really think you were going to fix him, Ian?”

Ian tapped his pencil across his desk over and over, trying to ignore Mandy as she threw herself on top of his roommate's bed. She stripped her jacket and shoes off, making herself at home in his dorm.

“Mandy, it’s been months, can we please stop talking about this?” Ian sighed, flipping through a binder of homework he accidentally let pile up. It was only his second week at college and he was already getting anxiety from the workload.

Mandy rolled her eyes and dumped her bag on the floor, sprawling across Ian’s roommate's bed without a care in the world. She blew out air before turning her head towards him.

“Months of you ignoring all the guys that come on to you, saving drafts of texts you won’t send, getting drunk. . . Like last night for example, at that party. You blew off the guy I was trying to hook you up with and got shit faced instead. When I walked you to your dorm, you were muttering Mickey’s name, Ian. You still want to pretend you’re over him?”

Ian shook his head and tried to finish up the last paragraph of the essay in front of him, due at midnight, doing his best to pretend Mandy wasn’t there.

“You won’t ever listen to me when I try to talk to you. Why can’t you talk to me for once, Ian?” Mandy asked, shifting on her side.

“There’s nothing to say. He moved on and I moved on, done,” Ian played along, trying to get her to leave him alone once and for all.

“Oh, yeah? Then why the fuck are you such a mess?”

“I’m not-”

“Fucking hell,” Mandy glared and crossed the room so she could slam his binder shut. “Look at me, Ian.”

He kept his eyes low and tightened his jaw. Mandy looked at the ceiling and then cast her eyes down at him again.

“All the time you spent with my brother and you never caught on to how he works? Christ, Ian, quit torturing yourself over something that isn’t your fault.”

“I have to finish this by tonight,” Ian said stiffly, glancing down at his closed binder that still had Mandy’s hand stretched out on it.

“Mickey thinks you’re better off without him. Didn’t he spout out some stupid shit and avoid working out being together? That’s because he wanted you to move on and not deal with his shit anymore. I’m not defending him-”

“Sounds a lot like that,” Ian snapped, moving her hand so he could continue writing.

“I’m not,” she glowered, “I’m also not blaming you. I just want to see you look like you give a fuck about something again. You knew that Mickey was destructive, you knew that, so why are you acting like you didn’t?”

“How the fuck can I forget Mickey if you bring him up every goddamn minute?” Ian shouted, hand going to his forehead. Mandy stared at him for a few minutes before she grabbed her bag off the floor and headed to the door.

“I think you’re both idiots for letting miscommunication ruin what you had,” she murmured and then left, shutting the door behind her.

Ian slammed his hand against the desk and then brought it to his face again. He took his phone out and looked at the numerous amounts of drafts in his message box, all meant for Mickey.

Ian didn’t see Mickey at school anymore after the day on the train and he didn’t have the courage to go see him at his house. He knew that Mickey pushed him away for reasons he always pushed him away for, logically Ian knew that.

It also wasn’t fair that Mickey took out his own insecurities and self hatred on Ian though. It wasn’t healthy to be with someone like that, not anymore. That pulling and pushing game didn’t make him feel good about himself, right? So, there wasn’t any reason to stick through it.

It was better for both of them. This way, Mickey didn’t have to deal with Ian being so overbearing. After all, Mickey seemed to hate the idea of sticking together.

Ian didn’t even notice he typed a text out to Mickey until it was in front of his face, his finger hovering to the send button. He paused, his eyes starting to water, because Mandy sure knew how to drag all that emotion back out. In the end, he threw the phone in his drawer and got back to the essay.

 

The pasty white kid in front of Mickey was fumbling all over the guitar, barely able to strum the notes that Mickey taught him just seconds ago. Mickey stared in frustration but tried to keep patient. After another few painful minutes, he cracked and glided next to the kid to strike the correct string with his thumb.

“Look, your fingers go here,” Mickey ordered, pointing clearly where the fuck his hand should be on the neck of the guitar.

“Uh, I was doing that,” the kid said back, eyebrows knitting.

“Holy fuck,” Mickey grimaced, standing up, “You’re already overdue on your session. Give me my thirty and get out of here. See you next week.”

“You’re pissy today,” the kid grinned, slapping a wad of money into Mickey’s hand. “Why did you become a teacher if you can’t stand watching me learn?”

“You’re taking your fucking time is why,” Mickey sneered, stuffing the dollars into his pants.

“My brain is kind of fried from studying, try it out,” the kid laughed, “Maybe some of it has to do with the pot I just smoked too.”

“Weed don’t fry your brain, dumb ass.”

“College weed, man, you’re missing out.”

“Get the fuck out of here,” Mickey barked, flipping him off. The kid just smiled as he left.

Mickey was sitting at a picnic table, counting up his earnings for guitar tutoring this week, when some girls waved at him from across the lawn. He ignored them and flipped through more money, making sure there was enough to give his uncle tonight.

“You play guitar?”

He looked up and a blonde girl, pretty decent on the eyes, sat across from him. She licked her glossed lips and pointed at the guitar leaned against the table.

“These frat boys love to give a fucking show so yeah, pretty good business here,” he told her, finished counting.

“You a music major?” she asked, folding her hand under her chin. Mickey scoffed.

“No, I don’t go here.”

“Oh? How old are you?” she questioned, a little confused.

Before he said anything back, someone slammed their book bag onto the table and gave the girl a stern look.

“I need to talk to him, scram,” Mandy demanded, obviously not in a good mood. The girl looked between them, figured she was his girlfriend and booked it.

“What the fuck do you want?” Mickey glowered, standing up to grab his guitar.

“You still haven’t told Ian that you work on campus, have you? He has no clue you’re staying with uncle Rick like ten minutes away,” Mandy got straight to it.

This is where Mickey rushed off. Mandy picked her pace up to follow him.

“You and Ian broke up because you thought college would separate you. You’re living in an apartment almost walking distance away and you won’t even tell him? What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Don’t you have biology or some shit?” Mickey fired back, cutting over the grass in favor of using the sidewalk.

“He deserves to at least know that his ex boyfriend is breathing the same air he does everyday. He deserves something from you, asshole. You really fucked him over, Mick.”

“Aren’t you just a voice of reason,” Mickey grumbled and dodged a pile of bikes chained up to one of the trees on the lawn.

“I get that you want him to forget about you but he’s not doing that. Do you know what it’s like spending a whole summer watching your best friend go through depression?”

“Could you go to fucking class or some shit? I have work.”

“Oh, right. You’re tutoring at the writing center, my bad. You know, Ian’s been having trouble with his essays. Wanna know why? Maybe because he keeps thinking about the fucker who broke his heart.”

Mickey stopped and ran his hand through his hair.

“Shut the fuck up, Mandy. You need to stop getting into shit that you don’t belong in.”

“Just because you think Ian is better off without you doesn’t mean he does. Get your shit straight and go after him,” Mandy glared, shoving him out of her way as she went into the building at their right. She turned around.

“I told you that you would regret hurting him, Mickey. It’s time to start regretting.”

She disappeared inside and Mickey ruffled his hair again. He stormed over the grass until he was walking up to the writing commons.

Getting his shit together was what he was in the process of doing. He had to get fucking right on track with his life that was for sure. So far, since the summer hit, he wasn’t doing too bad as far as his living situation went.

When Ian got off the train that day, the last time Mickey saw him, Mickey packed up what little shit he owned at home that night and rode every train and bus he could to his uncle’s house, never planning to go back. His uncle took him in, even if he was reluctant at first. When Mickey said that he wasn’t going back to school and he wasn’t going back home, his uncle must have known then that Mickey wouldn’t change his mind and if he didn’t let him stay, it might be the last time he would see Mickey.

Ever since, Mickey’s been doing odd jobs. At first it was helping out with equipment and some managing stuff with his uncle’s band. Then he did some handyman work for people, getting pretty good money for the rent. It was around July when his cousin, his uncle's son, mentioned the tutoring job at the college he was studying teaching at. He introduced Mickey to a few people and quickly landing him the job.

It wasn’t until his first day at the tutor office that he regretted inserting himself on a college campus because of course fate said fuck you and Mandy waltzed up, asking for a tutor. In that second of them meeting eyes, he knew that he was fucked. Of course this had to be the school Mandy and Ian ended up going to.

Mickey felt that sensation crawling up his skin as Mandy shouted at him, in front of all the other tutors and a room full of students. He knew he deserved it but it didn’t stop him from trying to get her off his back. She ripped him a new one for leaving her alone to deal with dad and for hurting Ian and not finishing school, all kinds of shit Mickey didn’t want to hear because he knew it was all true.

But he had to get himself together before he could be with Ian. He had to feel better about who he was and where he was going, he had to have a normal mindset, one that wasn’t going to tear Ian apart. It was easier said than done.

Mickey dropped his guitar off behind the desk at the writing center and dropped down into one of the empty seats, signing his name up for the next few hours. A few of the students he worked with waved at him and he nodded back, feeling worn out already just from Mandy’s ranting outside earlier.

“Hey, dude,” some guy said, going up to the desk from the door.

“What do you need help with?” Mickey asked tiredly, wanting to get the next few hours out of the way as fast as he could. At least when he was solving problems, concrete problems that he could actually solve, he was doing something to get his mind off everything.

“I think my syntax is all shit in this essay,” the kid admitted, handing over a few pages stapled together. Mickey swiped it and the kid took a seat in front of the desk, watching as Mickey read over it.

“Thank fucking God you actually know what you want me to help with. Most of you just come in here and expect me to do the whole fucking thing,” Mickey stated under his breath as his eyes scanned the paper. The guy smiled at that and stayed quiet when Mickey bit the cap off of the red pen on the desk.

“Alright, here’s your first issue,” Mickey commented, circling a few sentences in the first paragraph, “This is good at grabbing my attention but your next few points don’t really make sense with it. If you’re about to explain why you think abuse in childhood makes the kid abusive in adulthood, you gotta give some points about that, man. Give some opinion or some shit. I don’t know what the fuck these random statistics have to do with that.”

“It’s how many kids experience parental violence in America every year,” the kid explained quickly. Mickey waved a hand at him.

“Put some emotion into it, man. I’m dozing out with this.”

“I did right here,” he pointed out, finger at the bottom of the page, “Exposure to abuse in childhood can result in poor relationships in adulthood, inability to regulate emotions like rage and terror, despair and hopelessness. . . “

“Yeah, I got it,” Mickey said shortly, eyeing the next few paragraphs. After reading through the entire paper, he rolled his ballpoint pen between his fingers slowly.

“So I should throw out the statistics?” the kid wondered quietly, not sure what Mickey was thinking.

“No, keep it, just explain what it means better,” Mickey responded, crossing out where he circled before.

“What about right here?” the boy asked, flipping over the page and quoting. “If the abuse that kids go through is neglected, they are more likely to have problems expressing emotions safely. This can lead to juvenile delinquency, difficulty sleeping, difficulty connecting with others-”

“I said it was fine,” Mickey cut off, pinching the bridge of his nose. “If you don’t believe me then get someone else to check over it.”

The kid didn’t seem satisfied but picked the paper up and nodded in appreciation, walking off. Mickey stared down, dropping his hand to the table, unable to get what he just read out of his head.

 

Ian was almost dozing off at his desk when the door to the dorm opened and closed gently, stirring him.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you,” his roommate smiled and threw his keys on his own desk.  

“Hey, Sean, it’s okay,” Ian mumbled, wiping his eyes, “I should go to bed anyways. I’m not getting anywhere with this homework.”

Sean took his pants off and balled them up, tossing them towards the laundry basket in front of his bed but he missed by a long shot.

“Shit,” he laughed and went to put them in. Once the pants were up, he rolled over onto his bed with a sigh. “You should go get some help or something. You kill yourself over this stuff every night, dude.”

“I don’t think it will help much,” Ian shrugged, stacking all his work up so he could get to bed.

“If you get the right tutor, it can help a hell of a lot. I mean sometimes those people are assholes but then some of them actually know what they’re doing."

“They’re overworked students like us. I doubt they really care all that much about if what they’re saying is right or not,” Ian laughed and peeled his shirt off so he could get under the covers. Sean thought for a moment and then answered.

“Today, I went to get my essay fixed up but the guy hardly had anything to correct. I fucking rock,” Sean laughed. Ian smiled.

“Or it’s like I said and he doesn’t give a shit about your essay because he’s busy thinking about how he’s going to finish his own once he gets off work.”

“He looked like a ghost when he was done reading my paper. He must have been blown away.”

“I guess you’ll find out when you turn it in tomorrow,” Ian remarked lazily, already starting to drift off into the pillow. Sean switched the big lamp by his bed off and yawned loudly.

“Yeah, try it if you get the chance. It’s better than holding your own eyeballs open with clothes pins day and night. Plus, you might pick up a guy there or something. Get laid, man.”

“I’m gay, not desperate,” Ian told him with another soft chuckle.

“Hey, I picked up my last girlfriend when I needed an Anatomy tutor. Not to be cliché but we were totally checking each other’s anatomy out after that.”

“Falling in love with your tutor is the way to go, huh?” Ian murmured and then his eyes flew open. His own words rewound in his mind and he didn’t feel so sleepy anymore.

“Fall in love? What the fuck are you high? I said get laid not get married and run off into the sunset or anything. I don’t know, man, you’re never trying to meet people. We’re freshman, this is the prime time.”

Ian didn’t respond so Sean turned to face the wall. After a few moments, Sean was snoring mildly from his side. Ian turned over and stared up at the ceiling. It seemed like hours passed by and they must have because the sun was rising outside, flooding light into the dorm, and Ian was still awake.

He shut his eyes but the voices wouldn’t get out of his head.

_You can go back to sleep._

That was his own voice and then came Mickey’s.

_I’m not tired._

_You can’t sleep at home, that’s fine. You’re safe here with us though so go ahead and rest up._

_You’re up._

_And I also don’t stay awake and stare at the ceiling for hours in the dead of night like you do._

So, this is why Mickey stayed up all night, Ian thought. He must not have been able to turn off the thoughts about his dad, all the verbal abuse, whatever happened with his mom.

It wasn’t just because he didn’t feel safe where he was, it was because he didn’t feel safe in his own mind.

Ian took his phone off his desk and looked down but there were still no missed calls. He sighed and dropped his phone on the bed before turning to the wall, trying to get what little sleep he could until his alarm buzzed off.

 

“You want anything from the store?” Rick asked as soon as Mickey woke up from his nap on the couch. He rubbed at his eyes and stretched his legs before raising his knees and sitting up.

“McMuffin needs some cat food and uh, I guess could you get me more cigarettes?”

“Sure thing,” his uncle answered, shutting the front door behind him on the way out.

Mickey looked at the time on the TV and then grabbed his stuff so he could head to the campus for work.

It was Friday so the campus was full of zombies who were probably going to sleep after class so they could get trashed tonight. Mickey wandered along, having a smoke before work, and felt his phone buzz in his pocket.

It was a text from his uncle about what brand of cat food to get. Mickey tapped a quick reply and then finished off his cigarette. Someone jerked him by his shirt and spun him around. He was about to beat the shit out of them until he saw it was Mandy.

“I’m dragging Ian to a party tonight,” Mandy claimed, letting go of his shirt. “I’m going to make it my mission to get him some sex.”

“What the fuck should I care? I have work,” he sighed, side stepping around her.

“He hasn’t even kissed a guy since you guys broke it off. I’m sure I can get him some action though, plenty of willing guys. I mean, look at Ian.”

“Yeah, that’s just great-”

“No, really, look,” Mandy snapped and she turned Mickey around. There Ian was, walking with some guy, laughing about something.

Ian was smiling, he was really amused by whatever they were talking about. What bothered Mickey was how his eyes were kind of bloodshot and his face was kind of sullen, like he didn’t sleep for days.

Mickey froze up, heartbeat elevating, then dropping just as fast because Ian’s friend glanced over where they were standing and waved. Oh fuck, that was the kid who came to the writing center with that fucking child abuse paper.

Mickey was about to walk off but Mandy grabbed his arm firmly and before he knew it, Ian and his friend came up to them.

“Hey, man, thanks for yesterday. I’m about to go turn this shit in,” the guy with Ian greeted. Mickey didn’t have time to look up and Mandy dug her nails into his arm.

Ian seemed kind of out of it but his eyes finally landed on Mickey and widened. He looked on the verge of saying something but it was all lost because his friend spoke again.

"You'll be seeing a lot of me this semester, bro. I didn't know you were friends with Mandy."

"Not friends, siblings," Mandy smiled bitterly. She tried to get Mickey closer to the group but he finally whipped his head around, anger flashing in his eyes.

“Fucking lay off,” Mickey shouted and jerked his arm back. He scurried off, not looking back.

“Did I say something wrong?” Mickey heard the guy ask and Mandy sounded angry when she answered.

“No, he’s just an asshole.”

“Why was he . ?”

It was Ian’s voice then, faint and in disbelief.

“Yup, Mickey works here. Oh, he’s also staying with our uncle down the street."

Mandy's voice was out of range after that as Mickey walked as fast as he could to the tutoring center, breathless.

 

Ian was sitting on his bed when Mandy let herself into the dorm. She was all dressed up for the party, her hair and makeup even prettier than usual.

“Where’s Sean?” she asked, sitting on Sean’s bed.

“He’s getting his laundry,” Ian mumbled, rubbing his wrist.

“He’s coming tonight, isn’t he?”

“Yeah, he’s going.”

“And so are you,” she declared, rushing across the room to sit by him and throw her arms around him.

“Just go with Sean, Mandy. You know he wants to get it in with you, don’t you?”

“I told you I’m not fucking your roommate, too weird.”

Ian laughed and looked at her.

“You have standards now?”

“Shut the hell up,” she smirked, kissing his cheek and hopping off the bed.

The door opened and Sean came in carrying a basket full of clothes that he easily set in the corner for later.

“Let’s go, guys,” he said, running a comb through his hair and changing shirts. Mandy watched him change, not shamed in the least, and he noticed, giving her a smirk.

“Have fun,” Ian yawned but his yawn turned into a short gasp because Mandy pulled him up from the bed.

“We will, with you, dummy."

“Mandy-”

“Come on, dude. At least go to have some free drinks,” Sean persuaded, bouncing his eyebrows. He went outside and jingled his keys, trying to get them to come on.

“I want to hang out with you, Ian. Please?” Mandy pouted and Ian rolled his eyes.

“Will you do my Anthropology homework then?”

“Of course,” she said easily and then they both laughed.

“That’s happening,” Ian snorted, following the two of them into the hallway. Sean locked the dorm up and then he fist pumped the air.

“The three musketeers are off!”

“Never do that again,” Mandy cringed, clinging to Ian’s arm.

“How is Ian supposed to get laid with you all up on him, Mandy? Control yourself,” Sean pointed out on the way out of the dorm.

“Nobody’s getting laid,” Ian sighed but they were both drowning him out.

“You think we should score him a blonde?” Mandy hummed to Sean.

“Aren’t the blonde ones all stupid?” Sean asked, raising a brow as they got outside to the parking lot.

“You’re blonde, idiot,” Mandy retorted, giggling.

“I’m a dirty blonde, there’s a difference,” Sean explained, opening the door to his Lexus. Mandy got shotgun and Ian slid in the back.

“Dirty, huh?” Mandy smirked. He returned it.

“Plenty.”

“Could we please go before you two fuck up there?” Ian breathed out. They both laughed heartily and then Sean drove off towards the apartments off campus.

 

Mickey counted up all the cash in his register for the night and waved at his manager as he headed out. The pharmacy was deserted today for the most part so the day couldn't have went any slower. Feeling sluggish from the slow shift, Mickey walked down the sidewalk towards the apartment and put his headphones in. As soon as music blasted in his ears and got his energy re-flowing, his phone vibrated in his jeans. Instead of a text from his uncle, it was a picture from Mandy.

In the photo was a buzzed cut blonde guy hitting a joint and there were blurs of people dancing behind him. Mandy had a little caption under the photo.

_This guy wants to get in Ian's pants. Me and Sean can make it happen. Isn't he hot?!_

Mickey put the phone up, scowling, and turned the volume on his ipod up. Some asshole drove by and threw an empty beer can in front of him. Mickey gave the car the bird and felt his phone buzz again.

He really wanted to ignore it but he couldn't resist and checked. Mandy sent another picture of that kid he saw with Ian earlier that morning and the other blonde one from the last picture. Ian was there too and this time he was smoking the joint.

_You should come hang out Mickey. I know you like free drugs!_

Mickey clenched his jaw, his eyes remaining on Ian's face. He was in the middle of puffing and his eyes were towards the guy with the shaved head from the last picture.

Mickey tapped out a response and inhaled deeply.

_Stop fucking messaging me._

She sent another text and more than one photo with it.

_Then come have fun with us._

The first picture was of Mandy and the dark blonde kid taking a selfie. The next picture was the lighter blonde and Ian waving at the camera.

Looking at Ian made him feel nervous and guilty. Looking at Ian's smile made him smile back, his features softening. Earlier today he ran off before he could really get a glimpse of Ian but now he couldn't look away.

Mickey typed another message out to Mandy and hit send.

_Why the fuck did you tell him I work on campus?_

She took three seconds to respond.

_Haha he's mad about that. He might have angry sex with this cutie hanging out with us tonight. You better come apologize._

Mickey rubbed the back of his neck. He shook his head and swiped the phone off before changing the song on his ipod to some heavy metal and tryied to get himself together before he got to the apartment.

 

When Mickey went to work for tutoring Monday, he almost walked right back out because Ian was sitting at one of the tables, listening eagerly to another one of the tutors. It was the most awkward moment of his life, trying to decide if this job was worth it or not.

Mickey finally caved and went as discreetly as he could to his desk but he ran into another desk on his way by mistake and the screech of the metal legs caused everyone in the room to look up. Ian finally saw Mickey as he rushed across the room and attempted to make himself small behind the counter. He kept his head low and cursed under his breath but couldn't stop feeling stressed.

"Hey."

Mickey swallowed and looked up cautiously but it was just some random guy needing advice on a research paper. After walking him through some tips the guy stood up, beaming.

"Thanks, bro. Everyone else here just makes me feel kind of stupid. They don't really explain what's wrong."

Mickey stared at him for a few moments, mouth ajar, and quickly shrugged.

"Uh, okay, thanks."

The guy gave him a salute and then left the center. Mickey felt weird after the compliment but smiled slightly to himself, leaning back in his chair. Savoring it was cut short because someone plopped into the chair in front of Mickey so he chewed on the red pen in his hand and sighed.

"Yo, what do you need help with-"

Mickey stopped when he saw Ian sitting there, face stern.

They were quiet and Ian kept staring, his lips a thin line. Mickey averted his eyes and swiped a thumb on his bottom lip, chest tightening.

"Weren't you going to ask what I need help with?" Ian wondered, sounding irritated, and dropped a stack of papers on the table. Mickey didn't look up.

"My roommate and that guy just now seem to think you're pretty good at this. The girl over there was in a bad mood and there's nobody else in here so-"

"Do you think I'm good at this?" Mickey dared, raising his eyes.

Ian was taken back so Mickey grabbed the sheets on the table.

"You're having problems with writing? You're too fucking good to have prob-"

"I've been under the weather," Ian glowered.

"You look okay to me," Mickey shot back, flipping through the pages without really reading.

"That's because I'm great," Ian mocked, elbows on the table. 

"Really? Looks like you just got out of bed," Mickey remarked, casually taking in as much as he could from the paper in his hand. It was all jumbled though, hard to make anything out because Mickey couldn't ignore the tenseness in Ian's arms, how cloudy his eyes were and the fatigue written all over his face. 

"I slept through my first class," Ian grumbled.

Mickey could feel worry crawling up, that suffocating worry over Ian. Mickey's earlier conversations with Mandy played in his head. 

"I can get some pills at my other job, knock you right out if you can't sleep," Mickey responded seriously. 

"It's not like I _can_ go to sleep. I have a shit ton of homework and studying every day of the week."

"Maybe you need to manage time better. Okay," Mickey started, wanting to hurry this up because Ian didn't seem like he wanted to chat in the first place. He slid the paper up to Ian so he could see it, "right here you kind of missed-"

"Not all of us can sleep easy at night and pretend everything is fine," Ian cut off. Mickey stilled and tried to speak again.

"Uh, so right here you-"

"I what? What did I do, Mickey?" Ian asked carefully, inching closer. That was clearly directed at something other than this paper but Mickey knew he didn't deserve to go there. 

"You, uh, you kind of missed some of what you were planning on mentioning in the last paragraph-"

"If I tell you what I want to say would you really give a shit?" Ian challenged. Mickey stared down at the words of Ian's essay and breathed out. 

"Did you have sex with that guy, Friday?" 

Ian was silent and then broke out laughing. 

"You spying on me now?"

"Did you?" Mickey repeated urgently. Ian leaned close again. 

"Why the fuck does it matter?"

"You know why," Mickey answered, heart sinking. 

"How would I know? You like to run away from everything so I don't ever know shit," Ian smiled back, like this was a joke. Mickey blinked and felt his voice quiver when he responded.

"I don't want you to be with-"

He struggled and ran a hand through his hair. He thought he was getting better at this talking shit but it sure wasn't showing right now. Ian chuckled and shook his head.

"Fuck you. I can do whatever the fuck I want and it's got nothing to do with you, Mickey."

"Ian, I've been trying to-"

"No, I'm not doing this again with you. You'll make me think it means something and it never does. I just came over here to tell you to go screw yourself, Mickey."

Ian snatched his essay and shook his head one more time before he went out the door.

Mickey shifted his position in his seat. He thought he was getting better, he was opening up more to his uncle over the last few months, wasn't he getting better?

Why was it so much fucking harder to get out his feelings to Ian? His mind wandered to the paper from the other day, the one about childhood neglect and abuse. 

Poor relationships, unable to convey emotions, all that shit, it was all him. He wanted to get better and before with Ian, he was. Looks like he would just have to keep trying. 

 


	29. Whisper

It was a late night at the pharmacy and Mickey was ready to get out of this fucking polo shirt and go to bed at home.

There was just one old lady shopping at the back of the store and unfortunately Mickey wasn’t allowed to tell her to leave, even though it was almost passed closing. His managers cared so damn much about pleasing the customer after all. Mickey eyed her with as much killing intent as he could muster but the old lady just waddled down every aisle, not picking a damn thing up.

Then low and behold the store door opened and there was Mandy with a guy. Oh and Ian was there too, what a great way to end his shift. 

“What’s up, man? Do you work everywhere?” The guy who was pushing Ian playfully greeted on his way in as soon as he saw Mickey. Mickey really did not feel like dealing with this shit right now.

“You have like seven jobs, Mickey, what the fuck? Do you pay rent for a penthouse or what?” Mandy snorted, coming up to the counter. She giggled a few times and her face was rosy.

“Not all of us took dad’s money,” Mickey retaliated grimly.

“And that’s no one's fault but your own,” Mandy laughed. She tipped over a bit, snickering and poking Mickey on the nose over the counter. He moved back in annoyance and the other guy pat her back.

“Sorry, man, she’s kinda tipsy. I’m Ian’s roommate by the way, name’s Sean.”

Mickey glared at Mandy and then Sean.

“You got some headache medicine? She gets really fucking bad headaches when she drinks.”

“Nope, I don’t,” Sean answered.

Mickey glanced at Ian on impulse but regretted it and took some of his own money out of his pocket.

“Go get some from aisle seven,” he told Sean, “and bring it up here. She won’t stop whining if she doesn’t have something for the pain later.”

Mandy smiled and reached out to take the money but Mickey swatted her hand away.

“Go sit down, drunk ass.”

Sean put his arm around Mandy’s waist and walked with her towards the aisle, laughing at how she wobbled in her high heels.

“I didn’t know Mandy got headaches from just a few drinks.”

Ian said that. He was standing awkwardly closer to the counter, stuffing his hands in his pockets and putting his back against it, watching Sean and Mandy instead of Mickey. Mickey went around the counter and looked at him.

“Yeah, even if it’s just a beer she gets all giggly tonight and then tomorrow she'll be groaning all day, unless she has something to take. She has no pain tolerance, man.”

Mickey left to go front face, make the shelves neater and more organized. He couldn’t stand in that tense atmosphere for another second. At first Ian stayed where he was but after a minute of watching, he went to grab a bottle of soda from the fridge, close to where Mickey was crouched.

“You worry about Mandy?” Ian asked, hand shuffling through the bottles.

Mickey chewed on his bottom lip and deflated, knowing he had to make up for the other day a little bit and show that he could talk to him.

“Yeah, I do, I guess. She has you to watch out for her though so not too much,” Mickey answered honestly, pulling some fallen boxes forward on the shelf, straightening them up.

“I have her too,” Ian replied.

Then it felt like they did that thing where they were alluding to something other than Mandy. Mickey stood up and walked around Ian to go to the next aisle.

“You, uh, need anything?” Mickey asked over his shoulder, trying to sound casual but he felt anxious after letting it slip out. Ian didn’t answer at first and just kind of hovered nearby, watching Mickey fix the shelves. Mickey couldn’t see his expression but Ian finally answered.

“What? Like headache medicine?”

“Sure,” Mickey responded, moving more rapidly through the shelves.

That old lady in the store was still eyeballing the makeup aisle and he was reminded of how frustrating this job was. He finished this aisle and moved onto the next, saying to Ian as he brushed by him, “Or whatever else you need.”

He was pretty ecstatic that Ian was at least talking to him, willingly, and not telling him to fuck off. Mickey didn’t hear back from Ian so he went to the makeup aisle where the old lady was and shot her as many glares as he could during his cleaning. She still ignored him and picked up two lipsticks, weighing them each in her hand like that would help her decide which to buy.

“Just fucking steal them both. I won’t even look,” Mickey hissed under his breath but the old lady didn’t seem to hear. He finished going through every aisle, kind of half-assing the last few, and got back to the front where Mandy, Sean, and Ian were waiting.

Sean threw a bottle of pills on the counter and as soon as Mickey scanned it, about to pay with his own money, Sean quickly tossed a pack of chips and two candy bars up, coughing.

“You kidding me? Ain’t nobody paying for your fucking chips,” Mickey snorted, opening his register to get his own change.

“Come on, I’m broke as a joke,” Sean whined.

“Get a fucking job then,” Mickey smirked and then his eyes fell on Ian who was staring out towards the entrance, a coke bottle in his hand.

“Hey, you getting that?” Mickey asked. Ian looked back, startled.

“Give it here,” Mickey ordered, tapping his knuckles next to the pill bottle.

“What the hell, man? What about my chips?” Sean exploded. Mickey flipped him off.

“It’s okay,” Ian responded quietly, clearly bothered by the proposition.

“Let him, Ian,” Mandy chimed in sweetly, hugging Sean for some reason. “He’s trying to be nice. I like nice Mickey.”

“Okay, I’m guessing cuckoo’s nest here had more than a few. My sister ain’t this much of a light weight.”

“No I didn’t,” Mandy giggled, letting go of Sean so she could try and crawl over the counter.

“Get her to fucking bed, please, before she starts wrapping herself around strangers too,” Mickey insisted, trying to pry Mandy off the counter.

When Sean grabbed Mandy and peeled her away she started sniffing. “No, let me stay with Mickey. He’s my brother, let me stay with him.”

“Just get this so we can go,” Ian urged, placing his coke on the counter.

“No, let go, I want to stay with Mickey. You don’t want me anymore, Mickey?” Mandy whimpered, trying to get out of Sean’s arms. Mickey looked at her and then rubbed his hand across his face. He quickly scanned the coke and bagged it with the pills, handing it over to Ian.

“Mickey? Why’d you leave me by myself? Am I a bad sister?” Mandy stuttered helplessly, her face scrunched up like she was about to cry.

“Come on, let’s hurry and get her the fuck home,” Ian snapped, reaching out to take Mandy's arm.

Sean seemed to be extremely uncomfortable with the whole situation but he tried to help guide Mandy towards the door with Ian. She protested against both of them, her body starting to spazz.

“I want my brother,” Mandy cried out, jerking her elbows and knees. Ian rubbed her arm and was surprised at how someone as small as Mandy could be so strong. Sean wasn't laughing anymore, he was looking at Ian in concern, like  _what do we do?_

Mickey was in front of the three of them then and he first glanced at Mandy then at Ian.

“She can stay with me tonight.”

“No,” Ian replied automatically, trying to put his arms closer around Mandy but she wouldn’t stop squirming.

“Mandy needs you but she needs me too. She’s staying with me,” Mickey decided. Before Ian could object, Mandy broke out of their hold and hugged Mickey, already crying into his shirt. Mickey put his arms protectively around her back, still staring at Ian.

“I need her too,” he answered sincerely.

Astounded, Ian straightened up and watched the two of them for a solid minute. He appeared reluctant and shocked and angry all at the same time before he pushed past them, head down. Sean was at a loss, just gaping like a fish on land. He hurried to give Mickey the pills and ran after Ian.

Mickey let out a sigh of relief and didn't stop Mandy from sobbing against him. When he glanced up, that old lady from the makeup aisle was at the counter and she was smiling softly. She put a few twenties on the counter and left with just one pack of gum.

 

When Mickey woke up on the couch, there was laughter coming from the kitchen. He grumbled some incoherent stuff and then there was suddenly a plate of pancakes on his stomach.

“What the hell-”

“Happy birthday!” Mandy shouted in his face, blowing a loud streamer that hit him in the eye.

“Ow, shit, what the fuck is happening?”

“I know you like blueberry syrup, Mick, so I made it as soggy as possible!” Mandy chirped, blowing the streamer again. Mickey took it out of her hand and threw it across the room, knocking a picture frame off one of the night stands in the corner.

“Shit, Mandy, you know I hate this kind of-”

“Nope, you’re not doing that,” Mandy preotested firmly and scooped up half the pancake to stuff it in his mouth. The syrup got all over his shirt and he coughed, spitting out the pancake.

“Hey, you’re up,” uncle Rick announced, coming in from the kitchen. He gave Mickey a bottle of water and Mickey gladly took it to wash down all the blueberries.

“What are your plans for the day, Mickey?”

“I don't know, thought I would find some work down at the auto shop or your studio,” Mickey stated, finishing off the cup of water.

"Take the day off, it's your birthday," Rick chuckled.

Mickey sat up and scratched his arm, glowering at Mandy. “Why did you tell him?”

“Because I’m tired of us always feeling sorry for ourselves. We deserve for someone to give a shit about our birthday,” Mandy answered defiantly.

“Yup. You don’t have to come into work with the boys today, Mickey. Take the day off," Rick grinned, "Jesus, you work yourself to death. I’ll make sure nobody let’s you into the studio if you try and show up."

He took Mickey's empty mug before returning to the kitchen.

Mickey made a noise of objection but decided, fuck it, and started eating the pancakes, knowing they would make it a bigger deal if he didn’t comply.

“I feel fine today thanks to the painkillers,” Mandy plopped down on the sofa suddenly, nudging his shoulder with her own.

“When did you become little miss sunshine?” Mickey snorted, already done with his food.

“I’m really happy with myself now and there’s no dad to ruin it so why the hell wouldn’t I be?”

“Thanks for the plate of syrup,” Mickey yawned. Mandy took his plate and stood up.

“I have to go clean a fucking river for class today but hey-” she smirked, stepping back from the couch, “Ian is free all afternoon.”

“Is that what this is? You trying to get me all fucking hyped so I can-” Mickey covered his face and groaned, “So I can what exactly? What the fuck do you expect to come out of telling me that?”

“You guys are both lonely, poor souls, who belong together before the world gets swallowed up by the sun. Get the hell up and I’ll text him to get ready.”

“You get that line out of a goddamn John Green book?” Mickey asked into the couch pillow, half his words muffled.

“You read John Green?” Mandy laughed loudly, already pressing her painted fingers into her phone.

“No, I sure as hell don’t. Quit acting like you know who the fuck that is anyways,” Mickey shot back, sitting up.

“Don’t worry, I’ll tell Ian to take you on a nice picnic for your birthday, Hazel Grace.”

“Chill the fuck out, Mandy. You’re so fucking nosy-”

“-Oh, hey Ian's up. He already sent a message back-”

“-He told me to go screw myself for fuck’s sake. Don’t bother doing your stupid shit-”

“-Okay, he said he’ll meet you at the bus stop in front of the school,” Mandy quirked, putting her phone in her purse that she hurried to sling on her shoulder. She went straight for the door but Mickey hopped over the couch and got in her way, arm out over the door.

“What the fuck, Mandy!”

“Sorry, Mick, Ian likes you and the world may never know why but at least you get a second chance. Now, move out the way so I can get to this stupid ass volunteer service bullshit.”

Mickey kept his arm there but she just smiled widely at him, knowing he couldn’t keep it up for very long. He glowered and moved out of the way, fuming.

“It’s my birthday gift to you, Mick,” she laughed, starting to close the door behind her. She popped her head back in real quick, expression more serious.

“Don’t screw up this time,” she concluded and then shut the door.

Mickey waited for all of this to process before he went to the hallway closet to find something decent to put on. Maybe Mandy was lying and this was all some dumb ass birthday prank to mess with him or to get him back for blowing Ian off in the first place.

“I have to do some stuff for our record today,” his uncle said, appearing back in the room. He watched Mickey pull a dark shirt from the closet and black jeans.

“Hot date tonight?” his uncle laughed and Mickey flushed.

“No, I don’t know what the hell I’m doing.”

His uncle chortled at that and went out the door for a smoke. Mickey made his way down the hall to shower and brush his teeth. Then he tried to run a comb through his hair, something he never bothered doing, and it didn’t really seem to help much so he stopped. He looked at the mirror and sighed, wondering what the hell he was trying to do right now.

On the way out, he almost grabbed the pack of cigarettes on top of the shelf by the front door but stopped. He stared at it for a hard thirty seconds before deciding against it and hurried to meet his uncle outside of the apartment.

“Hey, man, I’m heading out,” Mickey told him, walking up. His uncle finished the final drag of his tobacco and chucked it to the sidewalk.

“Have fun and don’t forget what I said. Don’t work today, Mickey, I mean it.”

“Yeah, okay,” Mickey smirked, actually appreciating the sentiment.

He decided to ride the bus that went from the apartments to the campus, instead of walking, so Ian wouldn’t be waiting as long if he was already there. Mickey could have called or texted to find out exactly when they were supposed to see each other but he couldn’t bring himself to do it.

Nervous, Mickey got off the bus and looked around.

Ian was standing with his hands buried in his pockets, a little ways down the sidewalk. He was playing some kind of game on his phone when Mickey got the courage to go up to him.

“Hey,” Mickey said first, surprised but also not surprised to see him.

“Hey,” Ian responded, not as coldly as before, that was a good sign. Mickey didn’t know what the fuck was supposed to happen now. A guy walked by them with his rap music blasting from his headphones and once he was out of range, Ian exhaled.

“Here,” he mumbled, digging through his front pockets for something.

Mickey furrowed his brows and couldn’t stop feeling so fucking nervous. He tried to focus his attention elsewhere for a minute so he could think of something to say to Ian but he didn’t have anything.

“Take it,” Ian broke his thought and put his hand out to Mickey, not moving forward to close the distance between them. Mickey was puzzled and walked closer slowly, reaching out to take whatever was being offered to him. When he touched Ian’s hand, for just a second, he grabbed the object in it and Ian withdrew from the touch, looking away.

Mickey looked down in his own hand and it felt like the breath was knocked out of him.

It was his old lighter.

There was a silence over them where Ian was just avoiding looking at Mickey, putting his hands back in his pockets. Mickey’s fingers curled around the lighter and he looked up.

“I don’t need this.”

“It’s yours,” Ian answered shortly, turning his head to watch some couple and their dog cross the street.

“I don’t fucking want it,” Mickey reworded, feeling the familiar storm starting to rise up inside.

“Yeah, well, I don’t want it either.”

Mickey couldn’t believe this. He still had his hand held up dumbly so he quickly pocketed the lighter and shrugged.

“Cool, thanks,” he maintained, staying as calm as he could. Ian still didn’t look over and turned on his heels.

“Yeah, well, see you.”

Mickey let him walk off, too furious and upset by what just happened to bother stopping him. But then he remembered he had to cool down, had to do something besides stand there and let shit like this get worse. He gave himself a mental pep talk and jogged up after Ian.

“You going to do some schoolwork? I could help out. I have nothing better to do.”

“Gee, it sounds like you’re just dying to hang out with me,” Ian dodged bitterly.

“Sorry I want to spend my fucking day off with you,” Mickey growled. He quickly looked down and huffed out air, knowing that he had to control his anger.

“Did you miss the part where I said I’m not playing tug of war anymore?” Ian asked, trying to make sure he was a step ahead of Mickey as they got closer to the campus.

“If you would talk to me for one goddamn minute-”

“Like you’ve always talked to me? Great advice, Mickey.”

“Okay, I get it, I’m a fuck up. You don’t have to forgive me, you don’t even have to hang out with me. Could you just stop acting like you wish I was found dead in a fucking ditch somewhere?”

“You serious?” Ian retorted, spinning around abruptly. Mickey halted and backed up so they didn’t run into each other. “You’re going to make me feel guilty because I don’t want to go through what I went through again?”

Mickey tried to come up with a reply that didn’t sound defensive or threatening. He finally thought of something and kept his voice even as he said it.

“Then it doesn't have to be what it was before, whatever that was. Can we just talk or chill sometime? I don’t know, anything is better than what the fuck we're doing right now.”

“Okay, we can chill,” Ian settled. His expression was unreadable so Mickey wasn’t sure if he was mad or actually alright with what was set just now.

“Okay,” Mickey agreed slowly. Ian smiled at him, a weird smile that Mickey didn’t like.

“So then did you want to come over and chill? I’m going to work on my shit and you can do whatever you want.”

“Yeah, fine,” Mickey shrugged, shuffling anxiously.

“Fine,” Ian nodded and veered in the opposite direction. Mickey followed him through the campus to the dorms and they didn’t speak the whole way.

 

“I guess your old room was messy because of your brothers,” Mickey commented when they entered Ian’s dorm. Sean’s side wasn’t quite as kept together but Ian’s side was sparkling.

“Yeah, except under the bed,” Ian muttered and Mickey looked down. There were papers sprawled all over, seen through the slit where Ian’s sheets were almost touching the floor.

Mickey looked around, unsure on where to sit because Ian sat down in the chair at his own desk. Sean’s desk chair was nowhere to be seen.

“Where the fuck is your roommate's chair?”

“Him and his friends were being idiots the other weekend. They all took their desk chairs and sat in them on the elevator the whole night. Sean ended up leaving his chair on another floor or something, not sure how he forgot to bring it back. I don’t know how he’s going to pay for it,” Ian said, actually smiling from the memory.

Mickey propped down on the floor, lacing his fingers together between his knees. He looked out the window of the dorm, thinking the view was pretty nice. 

“Sean has some books for English and so do I, if you want to grab something,” Ian told him, already piling some work on his desk, along with a laptop that he must have gotten with loan money. Mickey glanced at the shelf pushed up on Ian’s side and reached out to check what books were on it.

“You and my sister seem tight with this guy,” Mickey pointed out, cringing as he shuffled through the book titles.

“Yeah, he’s cool,” Ian answered, pulling up a blank word document on his computer.

“My sister fucking him?”

“No, she thinks it will be awkward since I live with him.”

“She has standards now?” Mickey chuckled, reading the back of one of the covers.

“That’s what I said,” Ian laughed. He quickly dropped his smile though.

They were quiet then and Mickey finally picked a book that didn’t sound as shitty as the others. Time passed and the story was starting to put him to sleep. The pitter-patter of Ian’s fingers dancing over his keyboard didn’t help his drowsiness either.

It was true, Mickey was overworked as fuck. He could get through it though since he was trained to run on no sleep his entire life, it wasn’t a big deal. Looking over at Ian, Mickey could see how getting no sleep was affecting him though, how tired Ian really was, his eyes slightly falling every few minutes just to snap back open. Then he would rub them and sigh to himself before typing madly again.

The light outside was fading and Mickey wasn’t even reading the book anymore. He was dazed, mind wandering to earlier months spent in Ian’s old room. When they would laugh throughout the afternoon or do what they were doing now, silently staying in each other’s company while doing their own thing. Then at night, they would talk in low voices, maybe even whispers, even though they were the only two in Ian's room.

Mickey would always smile just a bit when Ian stopped responding to him because it meant he had dozed off and when Ian's breathing would become heavy, filling the silence of the room, it helped Mickey feel at peace, since the silence at his own home was so unbearable.

In the midst of remembering, Mickey could almost hear Ian’s deep slumber noises. Then Mickey glanced over to the other side of the dorm and noticed that Ian really was sleeping, his head buried in his arms on his desk.

Mickey closed the book in his hands and put it back on the shelf before he went to the door. He looked back at Ian’s restful expression, his shut eyes half hidden behind his sleeve, his limbs relaxed and free of tension, and Mickey felt a sadness come over him.

“Bye, Ian,” Mickey whispered into the darkening room even though he knew that Ian wouldn’t hear him. Ian never did, never woke up before Mickey left.

Back at Ian’s house, Mickey would always murmur something to Ian’s sleeping form, right before he slipped out in the morning. Sometimes ‘bye’, sometimes ‘sorry’, sometimes ‘thanks’, and then sometimes he would just kind of choke on his words and fight back the desire to touch Ian’s hair or face before he left. Like if he did that, he could somehow comfort Ian because Mickey was too much of a coward to do it while Ian was awake.

Mickey stared for another few seconds and turned to step out so Ian could sleep. Already feeling too much at once from the memories, Mickey just let it crush him and turned back around. He went to Ian’s side, his hand hovering over Ian's red hair.

Mickey tried to hold his breath as he barely brushed his hand over Ian’s scalp, already feeling like this was overstepping their little agreement earlier. The touch went unnoticed and Ian’s torso continued rising and falling, under the cotton of his thin shirt, steady, uninterrupted.

Mickey pulled back and rushed out the door, closing it as quietly as he could behind him, then he let out the air that he was holding in.

Standing in the desolate hallway now, Mickey pulled the lighter out of his pocket and smiled slightly down at it, a broken kind of smile.

  
  



	30. You're Safe Here

On the way to class that morning, Ian came outside of the dorm to find Mandy standing close to a trail at the side of the building. She seemed spaced out, not really paying attention to a few guys cat calling her or to her phone that was going off in her purse.

“Hey, Mandy, you okay?” Ian called out, jogging up to her.

They were in the shade, under the canopy of the trees, but it was still humid out and Mandy was glistening on her face. As soon as Ian was in front of her, she didn’t hug him or smile at him like she usually did. She looked up through her bangs and when she spoke, she was quiet.

“You know, Mickey might not have been the greatest guy but nobody forced you to want him. Nobody made you chase after him all year, Ian.”

“Wait, what?” Ian questioned, wondering where this was coming from.

“I don’t think he deserves all the blame for whatever happened between you guys, when you were warned from the beginning to stay away.”

“Mandy,” Ian stuttered, “ you don’t know what it’s like to have someone build you up, make you think you matter, and then they rip it away like-”

“I don’t?” she asked quickly, “You’re telling me that? The girl who went through boys like tic tacs in high school? I lost my virginity when I was thirteen because a boy told me I was beautiful. I think I get it.”

“Okay, well, even though you knew those guys would hurt you, you still went after them, didn’t you?” Ian clarified, feeling defensive all of a sudden.

“And you don’t see me crying my eyes out over any of them, do you?” she shot back. “You don’t see me bashing any of them or blaming them for our fall outs. That’s because I made the mistake of going after the same type of guy, telling myself it would be different this time, and the cycle went on. That’s on me too.”

Ian didn’t argue. He put his fingers around the strap of his book bag, gripping it tightly.

“I’m tired of seeing two people who are important to me hurt each other,” she finished.

Then she walked back up the trail behind them and Ian watched her go. When she disappeared up the hill, he went in the other direction to class.

 

Ian drifted off during his morning class but as soon as it was over, he jolted awake. He went back out into the humid air of outside and crossed the campus towards the dorms.

It was true that while he had feelings for Mickey, way more than just crush feelings near the end of the year, he knew from the beginning that Mickey wasn’t good at responding to them. It was just, Mickey kissed him and looked at him with gentle eyes and said things that made him think differently sometimes. Then Mickey would get distant all over again and when they parted ways on the train, it felt like Mickey just threw him out, as if none of it mattered from the start.

But maybe Mickey didn’t mean to do that, just like how he didn’t intentionally try to hurt Ian before. It was never like Mickey went out of his way to make Ian feel shitty. It didn’t stop the heartache though.

Ian groaned to himself as he went across the middle of the campus. His eyes landed on the huge fountain spouting out from the large walkway at the center, right by the clock tower. Sitting at the edge of the fountain was Mickey, smoking by the gushing water, all by himself.

Mickey looked so out of place sitting there, legs dangling off the edge of the fountain stone, his hair slightly damp in the back from the spray of the fountain behind him, dressed in dark jeans and a long sleeve gray button up in this kind of heat. Ian just stood at a distance, just to see what Mickey was doing, and after a few minutes, Mickey’s cigarette ran dry and he instantly fished another one from his pocket.

Then when he lit it, Ian was surprised that it was a disposable lighter, not the refillable one Ian gave back to him the other day.

It didn’t feel good to give back that lighter, not in the slightest. Ian thought maybe if he gave that back, he could finally let go of Mickey, finally just move on with his life. Of course Mickey had to run after him and say he wanted to stay friends, had to reel Ian back in like he always did.

Okay, maybe the real problem was that Ian didn’t know how to just be friends with Mickey. Maybe that’s what he needed to do, learn to be friends, and not expect anything else.

“Hey,” Ian said, going up to the fountain, scratching the back of his neck.

Mickey didn’t seem to hear him, could be the rush of the water by his ear was why or the fact that he wasn’t expecting anyone to come talk to him. He was lost in deep thought, just looking out towards the clock tower, face away from Ian.

Ian really shouldn’t have done this, it was a really bad idea, a really bad start to what they needed to have now, but he did it anyways because Mickey looked so alone that Ian’s unbearable need to remind him that he wasn’t kicked in. Ian slid on the fountain stone and nudged Mickey’s knee with his own, quick and light, but enough for Mickey to turn with a start.

“Hey,” Ian tried again. Mickey looked like a deer caught in headlights and it was too amusing.

“Hey,” Mickey blurted after a long pause, like he was trying to figure out why Ian was there.

“Waiting for someone?” Ian wondered.

Mickey still stared at Ian but averted his eyes, coming up with something to say.

“Nope, I’m done being a social butterfly today. I’ll just have to tell all my friends to fuck off until I feel social again,” he replied, kind of smirking now.

“So should I fuck off?” Ian asked, the inevitable smile coming to his face. He leaned back until he felt the fountain mist on his neck and understood now why Mickey was sitting here in this hot weather.

“Depends,” Mickey answered calmly, giving him a secretive gaze. Ian blushed at that and wanted to jump in the fountain because he really shouldn’t be blushing because of Mickey anymore.

“Depends on what? If I’m worth your time?” Ian snorted, trying to keep this strictly friendly. Mickey kept that covert stare and raised an eyebrow.

“Well, I don’t have fucking time anymore but-”

“You sure look free to me,” Ian pointed out. Mickey smirked against his cigarette that was now at his lips. He breathed the smoke out away from Ian and then turned his head again.

“I’m on my break and I wanted to smoke.”

“Break from work?” Ian asked. Mickey nodded and blinked at Ian a few times, then tilted his head, bringing the cigarette up near his lips again.

“ _But_ -” he continued, his smirk turning more into a slight smile, “you’re worth my time.”

Ian leaned up out of the cool mist of the fountain and rounded his face down. His heart started to go irregular because he was feeling happy and upset and confused.

“Ah, I should go to my class and you should get back to work,” Ian avoided, messing with the strings on his shoe.

“Okay,” Mickey said back, dragging on the cigarette now.

“So, uh, catch you later,” Ian nodded, standing up. Mickey didn’t respond so Ian nodded again and turned to leave.

“I mean it,” Mickey called out just loud enough for the two of them to hear. Ian froze up, his pulse still off. “It’s not going to be like before, Ian.”

That should have meant, we’re friends and it won’t get complicated with feelings like before, but somehow Ian knew that Mickey meant something else. That was too much.

“Bye,” Ian ended quickly and hurried off, not looking back.

 

When Mickey was done with work, he slipped into the apartment and found Rick sitting on the couch, his face grim.

“Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” Mickey joked, pulling his shirt off and tossing it in the laundry basket in the floor of the hall closet. He instantly put on a tank top, knowing that uncle Rick wouldn’t stare at his healing scars.

“You got this in the mail,” Rick said, looking over the couch at Mickey. His expression was weary, like the kind of expression a parent would have when their worried about their kid.

“Yeah? What?” Mickey asked, coming around the couch.

There was a giant box on the table, wrapped in flowery paper and dressed up with silky ribbon. Mickey stared at it for a moment before he grabbed it and headed straight to the kitchen.

“Mickey!”

His uncle came in after him but Mickey was already opening the garbage can. Right before he tossed it, Rick came up and spun him around.

“Hey, kid, I know you want to throw it out but give it a chance.”

“She does this every fucking year,” Mickey spat, fingernails digging into the thick paper of the box.

“Your mom got shit from Terry too,” Rick tried to alleviate but Mickey just laughed bitterly.

“Then why the fuck didn’t she get custody of us and get us the hell out of there? Don't fall for this crap, Rick. She only knows how to call when she’s had too much booze and throw her fucking money at us instead of taking a plane over here for once in her life. She’s a real saint though, ain’t she?”

“No, no, she’s not,” Rick said, dropping his hands from Mickey’s shoulders. “You deserve better Mickey but hating her for the rest of your life isn’t going to help you.”

‘Help me? I don’t need fucking help,” he shot, re-opening the garbage lid, hand hovering over the bin.

“The way you feel about your mom and dad is toxic. You’re drinking poison while they get off scotch free. I’m sure both of them have their own problems to worry about so-”

“And their fucking children just couldn’t be one of them?” Mickey bellowed, glaring into the trash can.

“No, listen. I’m sure they both have their own issues but by not putting you guys first, they’re the ones who are missing out. They lost you, so let them lose you. Don’t let this anger eat at you for the rest of your life and stop hating them, Mickey. If they're not worried about it than neither should you be.”

Mickey wanted to tell him to back off but he couldn’t bring himself to say that. His uncle was right, his uncle was giving a shit about him, actually giving a shit and not spouting nonsense to pacify him.

Mickey let the garbage lid fall and moved passed uncle Rick so he could tear open the present at the kitchen table. First there was a card with his name in pretty cursive on the front and Mickey recognized his mom’s writing. He tossed the card aside and looked at what else was inside.

In the box there was an expensive set of headphones, a huge bag of assorted candy that was all from different countries, a picture of his mom with her new husband and twin babies, and a slick video game handheld with a few games wrapped in clear plastic under it.

Then buried in the box tissue paper, in the corner, was a small white box with 'happy birthday' written in gold gel ink on the top. He grabbed it, just wanting to get all this over with, and popped the top off.

It was two plane tickets.

Mickey dropped the box, the tickets falling into the tissue paper, and he ripped open her letter. It was the usual letter he got every year, her usual apologies for not visiting, her usual excuses, and then a lot of rambling about her new family and what was happening in her life. She also asked a lot of questions for Mickey, how he was doing, how Mandy was doing, how he spent his birthday, things that she didn’t bother calling to ask. Then at the bottom she asked him to come see her and to bring Mandy with him.

“Can I throw all this out now?” Mickey asked, feeling his uncle still hovering behind him.

“Aren’t those tickets to Miami, Mickey?”

“Yeah, your point?” Mickey muttered, already throwing everything back into the box.

“She wants you to come see her,” Rick sighed, his hand finding Mickey’s shoulder. Mickey resisted the urge to shrug him off because no adult had ever tried to give him the fucking time of day, never tried to ease the pain he was trying not to let slip out.

“Why the fuck does it have to be me? Why the fuck do I have to go to her? Fuck that.”

“Hey, don’t worry, it’s up to you, nobody is forcing anything on you, Mick.”

“Then why does she send this shit every year? I’m sick of her acting like such a victim.”

Rick didn’t try and rebuke that, he just squeezed Mickey’s shoulder and then slid his hand away.

“How about I keep the box in my room for a while and you can think about it? You don’t have to go, no one is expecting anything out of you, alright? Just take some time to think it over.”

Mickey could feel his lungs getting harder and he swallowed thickly, failing for words for a moment. Inhaling, Mickey dug through the tissue paper and packed the tickets back into the smaller box before closing the bigger one.

“Yeah,” Mickey offered, coming to terms with the battle inside of him. He handed it over and Rick smiled kindly, taking it.

“Take care of yourself before anyone else, got that? Don't forget I’m here too, kiddo.”

“Kiddo? Come on, I thought we established that’s for your son,” Mickey tried to laugh and Rick seemed happy to see him feeling better.

“Hey, you’re not my son biologically but-” Rick stopped and actually got sheepish, “I think you know what I mean.”

“Let’s not do this touchy feely crap,” Mickey rolled his eyes. He still couldn't help but grin.

Inside, he was incredibly grateful just for his uncle’s presence. Just him standing there was what stopped him from being on the verge of a break down minutes ago.

“Sometimes, I think I am your dad, hell you look more like me than Lucas,” Rick chuckled.

“I have to get out of here before this becomes an episode of the Brady Bunch,” Mickey snorted, going to grab his phone and house key from the living room.

“You do know I’m saving most of your money for you, right? Over half of what you give me isn’t going to rent, it’s going in the bank,” Rick admitted suddenly, following after him.

“Why the hell's that?” Mickey asked over his shoulder, lacing his shoes on.

“Because the second you get paid, you want to throw it at me. You live on the goddamn couch and your room is a closet, Mickey. You really think I’m going to take all your money for that?”

Mickey shrugged and finished tying his shoes.

“Do what you want with it, I don’t know. I don’t have any use for it anyways. You took me in and shit, take it all.”

“This is the problem,” his uncle sighed, leaning on the door frame. “You don’t owe anybody anything. I’m not going to throw you out, Mickey, even if you couldn’t give me rent. I’m not taking pity on you, got that? I want you here.”

Mickey flushed and glanced at his uncle, his hand on the front door. His uncle chuckled when he saw Mickey’s shocked expression and then his features softened.  

“Isn’t that so hard to believe? Somebody wants you around and doesn’t expect anything from you,” he touched on seriously. “Accept that, Mick.”

Mickey turned the door handle and stepped into the apartment hallway.

“I believe you, thanks,” he said because that’s all he could do. He couldn’t tell him how much weight just lifted from his shoulders hearing that. He couldn’t explain what that meant to him, to hear someone say it, to hear that he was wanted.

“Really,” Mickey added and uncle Rick nodded in silent understanding, easing off the kitchen door frame.

“Be safe and if you do drugs, bring me some,” he told him, making Mickey laugh as he shut the door on his way out.

 

Mickey didn’t know what the fuck he was doing, standing in front of Ian’s dorm like a stalker. Somehow talking to uncle Rick made him have the urge to come over here.

There were people walking by, all seemingly in a mood to party from the conversations he was getting. Since you needed a card key to get into the dorm, Mickey was tempted to slip by someone coming out to get inside but then he remembered that this was creepy enough already.

Maybe this was how Ian felt long ago, that night he waited outside of Mandy and Mickey’s house, uninvited. Some relief came thinking that, remembering he wasn’t the only one who did this kind of shit. Then again, that was different back then.

Mickey took his phone out and dialed Ian’s number but something stopped him from hitting the call button. He stared at the digits, unsure of if this was really what he should do.

“Mickey?”

Mickey snapped his head up and there was Ian’s roommate, Sean.

“What’s up, bro? You live in this dorm too?”

“I don’t take classes and I don’t live on campus,” Mickey answered quickly, making this situation even worse probably.

“Really? Oh, shit, what are you doing looming around then?” Sean laughed.

“Fuck off. I was just walking around the campus.”

“You came all this way to see me? I’m so touched,” Sean beamed. Mickey flipped him off.

Sean whipped his card key out and went to the dorm door, opening it, gesturing for Mickey to come in. At first, he was going to just head home but Mickey decided to go with it, thinking this was better than the alternative of Sean telling Ian about Mickey being out here.

When they got up to the dorm, Sean opened the door and Ian was sitting against the wall, on his bed, watching something on his laptop.

“I picked up a stray on my way here,” Sean greeted, picking up a few things from his desk. Ian seemed concerned with that statement until he saw Mickey come in, face scowling.

“I’m not a fucking cat-”

“Kind of are,” Sean cut off, taking a Gatorade out of the fridge by his bed.

“What the fu-”

“You kind of are,” Ian agreed, eyes back on his laptop screen. Mickey stood dumbly by the door, not even knowing what the fuck to take from that but Sean was already changing subjects.

“I’m about to head out and meet my boys. You wanna come, Ian? You’re invited too, Mickey.”

“Nah, I’m in the middle of this movie,” Ian shrugged off.

“Guess it’s just us,” Sean teased Mickey and gulped down whatever was left of his drink.

“I’ll pass,” Mickey said smoothly, trying not to let it show that he really wanted to just see Ian for a bit.

“What? There's gonna be alcohol, dude, come on.”

“If you’re this fucking assertive while you’re sober, no way in hell am I getting near you while you’re drunk.”

“That's fine, Ian already has my heart,” Sean laughed, leaving his empty bottle on his desk. Ian just grinned and continued watching the movie on his computer. Even though Mickey knew it was a joke, he still didn’t feel good hearing that. Sean slapped Ian’s shoe and walked out of the dorm, looking back at Mickey.

“You staying?”

Mickey glanced at Ian who rose his eyes. It was so fucking awkward that Mickey almost wanted to just get out before it got worse.

“I can start the movie over,” Ian said slowly, seeming almost unsure. Mickey stuffed his hands in his pockets and tried to come up with a decent response.

“You guys better not have a scandal behind my back, I’ll be so hurt,” Sean chortled and closed the door.

When the door was shut, Ian shifted on the bed, pressing his back closer to the wall and his knees closer to himself, raising the laptop up a bit and waiting for Mickey to do something besides stand by the door. Mickey tried not to gulp and played it cool as he went over, crawling up next to Ian, making sure not to sit too close. Ian rewound the player on the screen and clicked play.

“It’s not a chick flick so don’t worry,” he exclaimed, shifting again.

“Okay,” Mickey murmured back, a lot more quietly than he meant.

After a few minutes of the opening scene, it was some asshole in a hockey mask chasing after a kid in a forest with a machete, Ian shifted again.

“Can you see?” he asked, still watching the kid screaming on the screen.

Mickey glanced over at Ian's face and watched the light of the laptop flicker over his eyes for a few seconds. He then decided that he wouldn’t make Ian say it out loud like before and moved closer on the bed, as close as possible to Ian without brushing against each other.

Neither of them said anything and continued watching as Mickey tried not to  _feel_ how close they were. He also attempted to follow the story but nothing all that grand happened and the effects were pretty shit.

“People don’t even have that much blood,” he muttered when it cut to a room with walls covered in it.

“If Hollywood followed the physics of real life, movies would suck,” Ian said with a smile.

There was a flashback, explaining the masked man’s backstory, and Ian seemed to tense up. The killer was just a kid in the scene, deformed, and at some camp. He got bullied at the camp by the other kids and then at a scene by a lake, in an attempt to prove to them that he could swim, the kid ended up falling under the surface and drowning, with nobody to save him.

“Maybe Hollywood does show real shit after all,” Mickey commented lowly as the camera panned out from the lake on the screen.

“This fucking guy is immortal,” Ian debated.

“Well, deep shit can turn you into a fucking psycho in the real world. Kids shoot up their school because of the little fuckers who make life a living hell for them.”

“Doesn’t give them the right to do it,” Ian glowered.

“Yeah, I know it doesn’t,” Mickey complied, stomach dropping.

Then some teenagers were about to have sex when hockey mask man popped out of the bushes and shoved his machete right through the female’s chest cavity. The teenage boy ran off, yelling his head off, but nope, he didn’t get away, there was mask man in front of him, raising that machete.

“What the fuck? He can teleport or something?” Mickey laughed loudly at how ridiculous this was getting. He glanced at Ian. He was biting his nail, watching with baited breath at what was going to happen.

That was when Mickey remembered how Ian was actually pretty scared of these kind of movies. On the screen, the guy got his head chopped clean off, the worst depiction of cutting off a body part Mickey could recall seeing, but it made Ian make a little gasp.

“You know, it’s not real,” Mickey whispered.

“I can’t help it,” Ian whispered back, eyes glued on the movie. “It’s real somewhere, some guy killing people in a cabin, that’s happened somewhere.”

“You’re safe here, man.”

“The thought is still there,” Ian concluded, shuddering when things were escalating again on screen.

Mickey thought about that. Any second his own dad could take a train up here and rip him away from his uncle, away from Ian, and the life he was getting for himself. It scared him to hell and back and that alone made him understand what Ian meant, why Ian was scared. Just because shit isn't happening right now doesn't mean it can't and doesn't mean it won't someday. 

So, Mickey rested his hand against Ian’s arm, let his knuckles press into it for a few seconds, and then he moved so that it rested on the crease of Ian’s elbow, his own nerves going haywire.

Ian didn’t look away from the movie so Mickey wasn’t even sure if he noticed, but he did know that Ian didn’t convulse when something scary happened anymore, not for the rest of the night.

 

 


	31. Stay

The ending credits of the horror film that Ian and Mickey were watching, together on Ian’s bed, came up on the screen and Ian automatically put on another movie when it was over. Mickey didn’t protest because it meant he wasn’t being kicked out yet. The movie Ian picked had a prison break plot, really action packed like Mickey could appreciate.

A few minutes into a heated scene of two convicts knocking a couple of the guards out, Mickey settled closer to Ian, letting their arms touch mindlessly. There was a lot of comedy relief in the movie so Ian and Mickey were both cracking up for half of it, kind of accidentally laughing against each other every now and then.

Ian glanced down at Mickey’s hand, the one that had been on his arm for nearly an hour, and then at Mickey’s face while he was in the middle of laughing. His dimples were showing because his smile was so wide and if Mickey were famous, Ian would be completely starstruck.

A few explosive scenes later and things went downhill for the main actors. One of the prisoners was locked up in a jail cell and in the dead of night, a guard slipped in. He held the prisoner down and it was obvious what was about to happen. Neither Mickey nor Ian were laughing as the guard unzipped his pants and shoved the prisoner down on the stone floor of the cell, listening to him fight against him.

“We can skip this,” Mickey coughed, but he wasn’t so much uncomfortable by it as he was worried about how it was affecting Ian. After all, Ian spent years with closeted feelings about sex, seeing it as more of a chore than an act of affection, and Mickey was sure seeing something like this had to be a bad memory jog.

“You ever had sex, Mickey?” Ian asked instead of clicking the player.

“What? Is this the time to ask that shit?”

“Friends can talk about that stuff, right?” Ian played off, peeking over at Mickey, the discomforting sounds of the men on screen still going.

“Okay, fine, yeah,” Mickey scoffed, not watching the movie anymore and looking into his lap.

Ian sat up straighter and swiveled his head to look at him.

“Wait, seriously?”

“Should I be fucking offended?” Mickey snorted and luckily the screen had flashed to another scene, just a monologue of one of the prisoners now.

“But you’re-” Ian stopped himself and picked out his words, “When? With who? How the hell did I not know this?”

“You don’t know a lot,” Mickey admitted, shrugging, and then he laughed, “Okay, actually you know a whole fucking lot about me. There’s just still years of shit that you don’t. Probably goes both ways, doesn’t it?”

“I guess so,” Ian acknowledged, still thrown off, “But what the fuck? I just never knew that you were actually, well. . . Shit.”

“Unlike you, the fucking I did was more inclusive.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“I only fucked people I was close to back then,” Mickey said, like it was the most obvious piece of information in the world, “I wasn’t and I’m still not exactly the most trusting guy now, am I?”

“You flinch sitting near me but you've actually _fucked_ other people?” Ian called out in disbelief, more to himself now.

“Sorry that I was a horny fucker too,” Mickey rolled his eyes, “Except it was with the same few people over the course of a long time.”

“Okay, when the hell was this?” Ian gaped, looking back at the movie but not registering it.

“The fucking dark ages,” Mickey joked and then shook his head, “Late middle school and early high school, man. I did a lot of shit, not being in school and all.”

“Okay, okay,” Ian processed, rubbing his face. “So, like, with the same person more than once?”

“Most of the time,” Mickey followed up, “Although I didn’t give a fuck as much back then about you know, what the fuck doing it entitled. We banged because we didn’t have anything else to do and that was the end of it.”

“You scolded me before for screwing around unattached and told me off because sex didn’t mean anything to me. What the hell?”

“That’s not the fucking same.”

“How?” Ian questioned, putting the laptop aside, fully giving Mickey his attention now.

“I didn’t give a shit about fucking people and you did, what’s there not to get?” Mickey retaliated, daring Ian to rebuttal. Ian didn’t seem to have anything to debate that with so he looked to the side and back.

“Okay, fair enough. So, you banged girls or guys?”

“Both,” Mickey answered, hoping by being as honest as possible, it was building Ian’s trust in him back up.

“Huh,” Ian pondered, stumped. “So, you just did your friends but it was strictly for pleasure?”

“Pretty much, yeah,” Mickey replied simply.

“I feel like I don’t know as much shit about you as I thought.”

“I’m sure I don’t know much shit about you either,” Mickey shrugged, not really knowing what kind of direction this talk was taking.

“You never really go out of your way to find out,” Ian challenged quickly.

“I read your fucking diaries, man.”

“That’s because you’re too scared to ask me upfront,” Ian sighed. Mickey let his head fall back against the wall.

“Fuck, you already know that. I’m trying here.”

“Yeah, I know,” Ian acknowledged. Mickey looked at him from the corner of his eye.

“What should I know about you that I don’t know?”

Ian laughed and thought for a minute, settling more near Mickey again, letting his arm rest almost on top of Mickey’s, but neither of them said anything about it.

“You’re trying to make me do all the work here. Why don’t you ask if you want to know?”

“Shit, excuse me,” Mickey chuckled, thinking. “Okay, we keeping this light or what?”

“Whatever you want to ask, just shoot, Mick.”

“Just fucking checking,” Mickey defended, rubbing his hand over his own knee. “Okay, uh, what’s the drunkest you’ve ever gotten?”

“Drunkest I’ve gotten? That’s a weird question.”

“You gonna answer or what?”

“Okay,” Ian laughed, “When I was fourteen, I went to a house party and had some hard shots, a lot more than I meant to. Someone caught me on camera doing fucking army salutes and marching throughout the house, singing at the top of my lungs. Then I passed out in the bathtub upstairs. It was fucking embarrassing.”

“I need to see you drunk now,” Mickey grunted, corner of his mouth lifting.

“I’ve seen you drunk, you’re totally clingy,” Ian declared truthfully. Mickey flushed.

“Yeah, that was uh, when my dad-” he muttered but quickly went with something else, “You mentioned that your parents skipped out on you. How come?”

Ian was quiet and crossed his arms over his leg.

“My dad is literally the definition of a piece of shit. Consider yourself lucky that you weren’t there when he hobbled into the house, fucking drunk, high, piece of garbage-”

“What does he do?” Mickey encouraged, glad that he was getting insight on Ian’s life for a change.

“He just, I don’t know where to start. He’s a leech, screws everyone, lies, does whatever he can to make life good for himself and hell for everyone else. The only thing that stopped me from hitting him back was-”

“Hitting him back?” Mickey scowled, turning his head to Ian.

“He tried to lay some throws on me when I stood up against him. He’s just an old drunk though, he couldn’t do anything really. But the worst fucking thing is knowing that any second he could waltz in the door and take what he wants, say what he wants, and half the time we can’t seem to do shit about it. I don’t know how he gets away with it, you know?”

“Damn, man, I had no idea,” Mickey confessed, actually feeling guilt come over him.

All this time, he complained about his old man and the shit he went through but Ian had it tough too apparently. He never even considered asking Ian about his own parents and what kind of hellish environment he'd grown up in.

“I’m over it. I’m here and he’s probably stranded in Mexico without a dime in his pocket,” Ian uttered but he didn’t look as genuine as he sounded.

“Shit, sorry that I never asked,” Mickey blurted, his head low now. Before it came off like self pity, before Ian could try to comfort him, because unfortunately it was Ian’s selfless nature to do so, Mickey quickly added, “I mean, I can ask now though, right?”

Ian made a small sound, kind of like a breath of relief.

“Of course you can ask.”

“How is it that you can have so much happen to you and still act like the sun will never stop shining in the fucking sky?” Mickey coaxed, chewing his lip.

“When the sun stops shining then the sun stops shining. That day comes when it comes,” Ian replied easily and Mickey groaned.

“Like I said, your optimism wears me the fuck out.”

“It’s rubbing off, isn’t it?” Ian countered, nudging Mickey’s knee and then his shoulder, lingering there.

“Sure, why not?” Mickey breathed out, smiling, closing his eyes against the wall again.

They sat in silence, a really comfortable silence, the nicest that had ever passed between them. And it didn’t feel weird, didn’t seem against their new friendship agreement, to be pressed kind of together, having an actual conversation where both of them were trying to learn more. Mickey wished he could have just did this shit a long time ago instead of keeping himself at a distance, keeping Ian at a distance.

“I lied, I’m not always sunshine,” Ian huffed, breaking the silence. “I’m just really fucking good at pretending.”

Mickey peered at him through half lidded eyes, watching the way Ian seemed to deflate and how his face was written all over with fatigue now.

“That’s because you’re so busy trying to help people with their shitty lives, you forget about your own,” Mickey claimed lowly. Ian didn’t disagree with that and slumped his shoulders.

“I’m pretty sure Lip is the only person I somewhat talk to. I think that’s because he’s my older brother though, it’s kind of a position he was born into,” Ian confided, trying to grin but he just switched his lips back and forth tensely.

“Well, you got me now, if you want,” Mickey offered and it was so fucking hard to say that but he did it, he fucking said it.

He finally put Ian before himself for one goddamn minute and after he let that slip out, he just wanted to do it again and again. He wanted to stay up all night and just do this thing that they were doing, just listen to whatever shit Ian bottled up.

“I do?” Ian smiled and of course he always had to ask, had to make sure, because Mickey had severed whatever trust was between them by now.

“Fucking count on it,” Mickey responded, kind of tentatively, unable to actually meet Ian’s eyes because his boldness was starting to diminish.

“You’re not going anywhere?” Ian wondered, not adding  _like before_  at the end because he didn’t want to guilt trip Mickey. It went against this little agreement between them but Ian couldn’t help but feel the moment and glided his hand over Mickey’s wrist, fingertips almost in the palm of Mickey’s hand.

It was like he was checking if Mickey would pull away or not, how he would react to the contact, whether it could just be them sharing pain and comfort without it being a mess.

“Not unless you want me to,” Mickey said back, face heating, and he was in the moment too so he moved his arm back just enough so that Ian’s hand kind of fell into his own, then he looked at Ian for confirmation.

“Okay,” Ian exhaled, feelings mixing and clashing together.

Mickey couldn’t stare anymore and dropped his head but he gently intertwined his fingers between Ian’s and huddled slightly more into himself to stay steady.

It didn’t matter at this point if they were friends or not, something else, hell, who needed a label? What did matter was that Mickey wanted to be, at the least, someone Ian could rely on for once, fucking do something for him, even if it was just sitting here, hand in hand.

“You don’t have to stop talking,” Mickey grumbled, feeling so nervous about just holding hands it was ridiculous, even though seconds ago he was talking about his fucking glory days of sleeping with old friends.

“What do you want me to say?” Ian asked, voice hushed.

“Whatever you want, just, you know, whatever.”

“Thanks,” Ian settled with and his breathing was getting heavier. “I think I’ll save it for another time and just stay like this though, if that’s okay.”

Mickey didn’t respond, he just listened to Ian’s even breathing fill the silence of the room. It was the most pleasant white noise he could hope for.

Ian’s hand relaxed against Mickey’s and then he shifted just enough so that he was slouching more and could move his head to Mickey’s shoulder. Mickey stiffened, his body’s go to reaction, but he tried to stay still, tried to not move away.

His eyes fell to Ian’s face and Ian looked worn out, like he would pass out any second, but as Mickey winded down into the touch, so did Ian and his face leveled.

Mickey let his own eyes close and got more comfortable in how he was positioned, then listened to Ian’s breathing pattern change again, able to pinpoint the exact moment Ian went out as he loosened up and declined fully against Mickey in his sleep.

Pretty soon Mickey slumped too, drifting off, contented, because nobody’s dad was going to bust the door down and hurt them, and that gave him the peace of mind to fall out faster than any other time in his life.

 

When Mickey woke up, he felt kind of sore, his back arched awkwardly into the wall, his legs were stretched out on Ian’s bed. Ian was leaning against him, his hand still on top of Mickey’s and his head was still rolled over on Mickey’s shoulder, drooping a bit.

Mickey squinted at the window where the sun was coming up and holy shit, how did they sleep like that for so many hours? Then he checked Sean’s side of the room but Sean was nowhere to be found.

He slid out of Ian’s touch as slowly as he could, moving off the bed, and reached out to ease Ian down. Ian made little sounds of protest when Mickey let go of his hand and rolled over on his stomach.

“Stay,” Ian murmured, voice thick with sleep.

“I got work,” Mickey told him, standing up.

“It’s Saturday,” Ian objected, his eyes still closed, one hand going in Mickey’s general direction.

“Work don’t stop for weekends,” Mickey chuckled, rolling his sleeves up for just a second because it was hot, until he remembered why they weren't up in the first place and shoved them back down.

“Let me see,” Ian mumbled, eyes barely open as he grabbed Mickey’s arm and tugged him closer.

Ian blinked but his eyes were still foggy. He pushed the sleeve back, eyes sweeping over the newly exposed arm.

“Don’t hide it,” he demanded, groggy, and nuzzled his face against Mickey’s bicep that had hints of cut marks and burns, other wounds that were faint but would never fully recover. Mickey was at a loss as Ian moved away from him and turned over to the wall, sighing.

“Uh,” Mickey stuttered, “I’ll see you later. I gotta head out.”

“Hm, kay,” Ian stifled, nearing the wall.

“Bye, man,” Mickey remarked, heading to the door.

“What job?” Ian asked suddenly, voice going a little less hazy, getting Mickey to stop in the middle of the room and glance back.

“Some stuff with my uncle.”

“You have to go?” Ian inquired quietly, inhaling.

“I mean, I don’t have to, but I have to earn my keep in his house.”

Then Mickey thought about it and knew that after their conversation last night, uncle Rick would probably want to kick his ass more than anything if he showed up to help today so he ran a hand through his hair, going between decisions in his head.

“You need me to stay?” he asked, heartbeat thumping louder. Ian made a few noises but didn’t give out a clear answer so Mickey crossed the space of the carpet and sat down on the bed, eyes to the floor.

“I can stay,” he swallowed, bringing his hands together between his open legs. Ian shifted to lay on his back, more awake than before. Since Ian didn’t say what he was thinking, Mickey stole the words out of his head.

“Alright, I’m not going anywhere,” Mickey decided, kicking his shoes back off and fell back with a loud yawn.

After a small silence, Mickey and Ian both turned their heads to each other and stared briefly before Ian smiled and stretched his arms behind his own head, closed his eyes so he could go back to sleep. Mickey folded his hands over his stomach, looked at the ceiling, just for a minute though, because it didn’t take long for him to go back out himself.


	32. Sharing The Burden

Knowing that Mickey Milkovich wasn’t a virgin, was completely fucking with Ian. All this time, he never really questioned it, the fact that Mickey may or may not have had sex before. Getting Mickey to share the same space as him was hard enough so the fact that Mickey actually let someone touch him so _intimately_ before was unbelievable.

This probably wasn’t the best time to be thinking about Mickey’s past sex life because he was sitting right in front of Ian, eating an ice cream sundae, tongue lapping in a way that made Ian’s stomach flop. They were under the shade of an oak tree and neither of them said it but somehow sitting under this tree, the biggest one at the center of campus, was like their exclusive spot back at high school.

“I always thought you were allergic to eating but you got the biggest bowl on the menu,” Ian laughed, watching Mickey pop more vanilla soft serve in his mouth.

“When you’ve been in the fucking heat for four hours, you’ll want the biggest sundae you can find too.”

“Or you were a secret fat ass this whole time.”

“Fuck you,” Mickey smirked. “Who the fuck’s the one cramming for time before class for a fucking peach - mango -  whatever the fuck you got?”

“When you’ve skipped out on breakfast, you’ll want a peach-mango-whatever the fuck too,” Ian chuckled, biting into his tropic frozen yogurt.

“Man, this whole teaching college kids to play guitar thing is more tiring than all the other shit I do,” Mickey grumbled, his tongue darting out at the chocolate sauce on his bottom lip. Ian’s eyes stayed there for a moment and he almost whimpered at how unfair this was.  

“Yeah? Thought you said music was your life and that’s all you needed.”

“Doesn’t mean I like teaching it.”

“You must be doing something right if they’re still paying you,” Ian laughed between chews.

“I don’t know, I need to find something to fucking work for. I do the same shit everyday.”

“You could start with a car, get a set of wheels,” Ian suggested.

“I don’t need it,” Mickey shrugged, scraping some banana slices that were hidden near the bottom of the bowl.

“You will if you want to go somewhere that isn’t here.”

“I don’t have anywhere to go,” Mickey tried to disclose, not really wanting to talk about future stuff right now. His mind wandered for a moment and a thought hit him.

“What I mean is that one day you might-”

“Hold up,” Mickey interrupted, glancing around, “You seen Mandy lately?”

“I saw her this morning when I missed class,” Ian responded, eyebrows going up.

“I gotta tell her something.”

“Yeah? What?”

“None of your goddamn business is what,” Mickey snorted and Ian smiled.

“Mandy is my best friend, her business is my business.”

“I guess she’ll end up telling your ass anyways so might as well,” Mickey sighed, turning his spoon over into the ice cream again. “My mom sent us tickets to Miami, that’s where she’s living with her front page of people magazine family, and she wants us to drop the fuck by. She has some fucking nerve pulling this shit.”

“You going?” Ian asked into his yogurt cup. When he saw Mickey’s _are you fucking kidding me_ face, he rolled his eyes. “If you don’t want to go, you better hand that shit over. I’ll go with Mandy.”

“What, why the hell would you-”

“It’s Miami, a free fucking trip,” Ian replied, “I’ve never been out of this city, much less across the country. You can pass it up but please share the wealth.”

“Everywhere is just as shitty as here, don’t get your hopes up.”

“Only if you have that attitude,” Ian disagreed.

“Fine, go with your fucking best-friend-for-fucking-ever, damn,” Mickey muttered, peeved off, setting his sundae on his knee. Ian glanced over, amused by the over the top swearing.

“You think Mandy wants to go?”

“If I knew that I wouldn’t be asking where the fuck she was.”

It was venturing later into September now and there was tons of energy all around campus today since it was sunny out, air cool, not humid. Mickey watched people playing in the fountain, laying out to tan, other people throwing frisbees to each other and some just standing around in big groups talking.

“What the hell is there to do around here?” Mickey wondered, not understanding how everyone was buzzing around.

“I don’t know, the campus has a lot of events if you know where to go. I usually just go to whatever Mandy wants.”

“Aren’t you just miss independent,” Mickey smirked, teasing, and then he whipped up some ice cream in his mouth. “Don’t you have a class to get to?”

Ian checked his watch and then finished the last glob of frozen yogurt. He scratched the side of his face and fiddled with the hem of his shirt.

“I do but I would rather-”

“Ian!’

Ian’s head shot up and Mickey glared at whoever the fuck's obnoxious voice that was. It was Sean standing there with another guy, both looking like total dicks with their Chinese food, hovering over them.

“Make room,” Sean jested, trying to nestle his foot into the tiny space between Ian and Mickey’s bodies.

“There’s plenty of fucking room, all the way over there,” Mickey glowered, sticking his thumb out towards the other side of campus.

“What’s up, Ian,” the blonde one greeted deviously. Ian gave them both a halfhearted smile.

“Hey Goldilocks, how about you and your fucking bear get lost,” Mickey snapped, not in the mood to deal with these loud fuckers right now. Sean lightly kicked his foot.

“I’m a dirty blonde, not golden,” he replied, running his hands across his curly hair. “Who pissed in your cheerios this morning?”

As Mickey squinted up, he realized the other blonde was the guy from the pictures Mandy sent nights ago, the kid she wanted to set up with Ian.

“Dude, are you going to finish that ice cream?” the blonde guy asked quickly, “You have like four bites left.”

“Could you be more of a freeloader, Blake?” Sean snorted. Mickey sat up in a crouch.

“Says the guy who tried to get someone he doesn’t even know to buy his fucking chips,” he pointed out and then grimaced at Blake. “Who the fuck are you? Like hell I’m letting you eat my-”

Ian grabbed Mickey’s bowl then and scraped his own spoon across the bottom, shoveling the rest down his throat in a single bite. They all stared at him as he sighed happily, throwing his and Mickey’s empty bowls away into a nearby garbage bin, turning back to the group.

“See you guys later, I have to get to class. Thanks, Mick,” he grinned and walked off, not giving Mickey the chance to say anything.

“Damn, Ian’s quick,” Sean laughed. Blake smirked.

“Wonder what else he can do with that mouth.”

“Ew, can you keep those fucking thoughts to yourself, that’s my friend,” Sean shuddered, actually sounding disturbed.

Mickey had to hide his clenched fists in his pockets because anger had boiled over inside of him. He was different, he wasn’t violent, he was okay, that’s what he kept repeating in his head. As soon as he stood up, Blake and Sean plopped on the ground. Sean peered up at Mickey while he broke his chopsticks apart.

“Want to come to a party with us tonight, bro? Mandy’s going.”

“I’m sure Mandy would be ecstatic about her brother being there while she grinds on you and your fucking friends,” Mickey retorted, fiery gaze still on the bleached blonde fucker.

“Well, Ian will be there, and of course, me,” Sean teased, “I know you can’t resist that invite.”

“You’ve definitely been around Ian and my sister too long.”

“I think he’s just a cocky bastard at heart,” Blake put in. Sean smiled and crossed his arms.

“I can’t help that I’m irresistible and since Mickey has entered my orbit, I’m just letting him know it’s natural to desire me.”

“Your orbit? Well, you do have a big ass Jupiter head,” Mickey stated but he wished he kept his mouth shut because it made Blake burst into laughter. Sean’s eyes sparkled so Mickey added, “I don’t know. I might have work tonight with my uncle.”

“Blow it off,” Blake stated bluntly. One more word out of this guy and Mickey was going to snap.

“I’ll tell Ian to text you my number and then you can tell me if you’re showing up,” Sean decided, twirling his chopsticks around some noodles.

“Like hell I want your number.”

“I like when you play hard to get,” Sean grinned, slurping up some lo mein.

“You joke around too much for a straight guy,” Blake grunted, sounding pretty impressed nonetheless.

“Yeah, okay, we’ll see what happens,” Mickey brushed off and they waved at him as he left.

 

Mandy busted into Sean and Ian’s dorm that night and the first thing she did was jump on Ian to hug him.

“Why don’t I ever get a hug?” Sean whined from his desk and Mandy stuck her tongue out at him. Ian laughed and hugged back. 

“Come on, Sean, hurry and put a shirt on,” Mandy called out, clapping her hands together.

“What? You scared you might jump me while Ian’s in the room?”

“I had a long day so I’m ready to go dancing, asshole,” Mandy urged, running to the door.

“You just use me for my looks,” Sean sighed, grabbing a shirt off the floor.

“And your car,” Mandy added, earning her a middle finger from him. When Ian got his shoes on, he went in the hallway with Mandy and leaned on the wall.

“Mickey needed to talk to you."

“About what?” she asked, scrunching up her face, not knowing what to expect.

“Something with your mom,” he said carefully but Mandy didn’t seem affected.

“Yeah? What about her?”

“I guess he didn’t say I couldn’t tell you. . . She wants you guys to visit her in Miami, sent tickets.”

“Really?” Mandy laughed as Sean locked up.

“Yeah, I don’t know how long or anything.”

The three of them went down the stairs and out the door to the parking lot, heading directly to Sean's car.

“There is no way in hell that Mickey is taking that bait and neither am I,” she laughed another time.

“Oh, okay,” Ian responded quietly, a little taken back. Mandy never really showed the hatred towards their parents the way that Mickey did but then again, she rarely talked about them in general.

“Did you text Mickey? Do I need to get him?” Sean asked, already backing the car out of the lot.

“He never responded,” Ian mumbled.

He leaned his head on the car window as they drove off, thinking. Mickey seemed to be coming around more lately, their conversation from the other day was proof of that. In reality, Ian didn't have a right to expect anything out of Mickey but he was happy to see Mickey getting out of his shell.

Sometimes, Mickey would text Ian for little lunch dates whenever he wasn’t working and Ian wasn’t in class. Okay, so, maybe Ian was the only one calling them that in his head, but Mickey initiated most of them so that counted for something. They would just talk about stuff, everything really, and Ian never felt like he needed to hold back as much. Maybe it was because they were friends, keeping it safe, not letting it be ruined by going over the invisible line.

When they got to the other end of the campus and jumped out of the car, a few guys loitering in front of the apartment they parked at, waved. They rough housed with Sean as the three of them came up to the entrance.

“What do we have here?” one of the guys asked Mandy, eyes going up and down the length of her body.

“Don’t even think about it, bro, she’s mine,” Sean told him, pushing his friend lightly.

“I belong to me. Come on, Ian,” she scoffed, taking Ian’s arm, dragging him inside.

There were a lot of people in the apartment that the party was being held in. Luckily, Ian didn’t feel the wave of anxiety that would come over him when he got to parties, not the way it used to. He actually felt pretty excited, getting hyped from the music.

Mandy kind of twirled him, giggling, and he just laughed, allowing her predictably happy feet to move around him. They playfully danced together for a second before Blake showed up with a plastic cup in his hand, instantly checking Ian out.

“Hey, Blake,” Mandy said, dropping Ian’s arm, smiling between the two. Ian shot her a look because she made it no secret that she wanted him to go for this guy.

“How long you guys been here?” Blake asked, staring straight at Ian.

“Just got here,” Sean answered for them, breaking up Ian and Mandy so he was standing between them. He had a couple drinks with him that he passed over to the two.

“Thanks,” Ian said but Mandy poured it down her throat, looking away in annoyance, probably from his earlier comment.

“They’re doing body shots in the other room, you guys game?” Blake brought up, speaking louder because the song changed, vibrating the apartment with more bass.

“No, thanks,” Ian responded, glancing around.

“Sounds fun,” Mandy replied, handing her empty cup to Sean who took it, his eyes still on her, not wavering since the second he walked up.

“Mandy, I’m going to head over there,” Ian stated loudly, shifting his body so he could see her behind Sean.

“Okay, meet up in a few? If I get too wild then you know the procedure.”

“Come join you, I know,” Ian snorted, drinking more of his beer.

“You’re socializing? Holy shit,” Sean exclaimed and Ian rolled his eyes, leaving all of them so he could check out what else was happening. Maybe it was time to branch out, specifically stop following Mandy around and do his own thing.

Ian moved through the next room of people, scoping out anyone or anything interesting. There was one girl stripping on top of a table, already down to her bra, a crowd cheering around her. Uninterested, he spun around, bumping into someone.

“Sorry,” the person said sheepishly, stepping back. The voice was male, soft spoken, and when Ian looked up, he could see that the voice didn’t really match the face. The guy had sharp cheekbones, pale skin, multiple piercings in either ear under his jet dyed hair, light jade eyes, and when he took Ian in, he smiled, showing off a set of brilliant canines.

Before Ian could apologize himself, the guy pointed a finger at his chest.

“Hey, aren’t you Ian Gallagher?”

“Uh,” Ian blinked, tripping over his own tongue in his response. “Yes?”

“Yes? You don’t sound so sure.”

“No, I mean, yes, that’s me,” Ian spluttered, not knowing where this shameful display was coming from. He never lost confidence when it came to good looking guys before, with the exception of Mickey that is.

“Wow, more South Side around here than I thought fucking possible,” the guy beamed. “I’m Colt. You’re the third person from South Side I've seen at school here this year.”

“Really?” Ian asked, sipping his beer just to occupy his stupid fucking stutter issue.

“Yeah, man. First, I ran into Angie Zago, she’s still putting out like a pro, Wayne DuShan, doing the meth lab thing on the side, and some guy that lived down the street from me, can’t recall his name now, shit.”

When Ian collected himself, agitated by how winded this guy just made him, he breathed out loudly from his cup and spoke.

“So, you forgot that name of a guy who lived on your street, but you know me?”

“Hey, in my defense, we went to the same high school,” Colt laughed, pushing Ian’s shoulder gently. “We had gym together Junior year. I remember that red hair. Oh, that and because you totally covered my ass one time.”

“You sure that was me?” Ian blurted, confused now. He would remember this guy, no doubt about that, and nothing was coming to mind.

“How many red heads were in our class, man? Yeah, you told the fucking coach that I was in the locker room when I went to do weed by the track. That’s what I heard but hey, if you didn’t cover me, someone did.”

“Wait a minute,” Ian intervened slowly, in thought. “Colton? Oh, shit, yeah, that’s right. You always slept on top of the bleachers so the coach didn’t see you.”

“Good fucking times,” Colt smiled. “Shit, man, I can’t believe you're here too.”

Ian laughed until someone parted the crowd then, kind of stumbling next to them. It was Mickey, his hair sort of messy, eyes heavy lidded from sleep depravity, and his face was a little flushed, like he just got back from a run.

And then it was like Ian’s initial reaction to Colt earlier was nothing compared to how his body was reacting to Mickey. His breath was literally gone, his bloodstream was pumping at an insane rate, his throat shriveled, his mind wiped itself off of the face of the planet.

“I was going to text you but my uncle doesn’t like when I’m on the phone at work,” Mickey greeted gruffly, fixing his hoodie that started to slip off from going through the party crowd. Ian said nothing, too busy trying not to jump Mickey on the spot.

“Mickey Milkovich? Holy fucking shit," Colt broke out, a lot more shocked to see Mickey than Ian.

Mickey glanced over, almost as surprised but a lot more disdained.

“The fuck are you doing here?” he glowered, eyes going to Ian for a silent explanation before they gave up and went back to Colt.

“Is that a way to greet an old friend, Mick? I go to school here.”

“You go to fucking school here? Quit shitting me.”

“One hundred percent college bitch,” Colt smirked, his smile not nearly as pretty directed at Mickey, as it was earlier. “What about you? Last I remember, you thought colleges could burn to the ground for all you gave a shit.”

“For fuck’s sake,” Mickey barked, eyes searching the room.

“Looking for someone?” Colt questioned, smugness evident now. When Mickey didn’t respond he closed their little circle up and crossed his arms. “Well, he’s not here. It’s just me and Davey. He lives close by though, could call him up if you want to see him.”

“I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”

There was the classic Mickey line, his way of avoiding any situation, Ian recognized it, and the tone of the response, the latent fear.

“Be careful with this one,” Colt laughed, eyes on Ian, going back to a friendlier demeanor. “You don’t want to get on his bad side.”

“Shut your fucking mouth,” Mickey spat darkly but this just caused Colt to laugh again and look down at Mickey, non-threatened.

“You’re too easy, man. If you want to come hang later, I’m heading out with Davey in like an hour. You know who will be with us if you wanna tag along.”

Mickey turned his head, almost stalking off, but when he remembered Ian was standing there, he didn’t. Ian looked between them, feeling the heavy tension growing and growing.

“Hey, if it’s worth anything, I miss having you around,” Colt tried honestly but that seemed to make Mickey even angrier so he looked Ian’s way again. “It was good to see you, Ian. Maybe, if you aren’t busy, you can come find me. What dorm you staying in?”

Ian watched Mickey who was still silent, head low, in that way that Ian knew meant he was nervous and uneasy. If Mickey was uneasy then Ian definitely couldn’t rattle him any further by going with this guy.

“Uh, another time, maybe,” Ian said politely. Colt laughed, more lightly, catching on.

“Well, if you want to, I hang around near the Baseball field most days with my friends. You can come chill whenever you’re bored. We won’t bite.”

“Uh, okay,” Ian answered anxiously, practically feeling Mickey’s aura next to him.

When Colt left, he didn’t hesitate to turn to Mickey and blurt, “Mick?”

“Yeah, what?” Mickey replied, looking up, face void of anything.

Ian was going to ask about what the fuck just went down, who the fuck Mickey scanned the room for, but instead, his overly eager side won and it came out as, “You made it."

“Alright, thanks for noticing, Nancy fucking Drew.”

Ian grinned, happy to see Mickey's mood returning to normal.

“You just finished work then?”

“Yeah, my uncle had me fixing some sound tech shit in the studio. Where the hell is the beer around here?”

“Let’s go find out,” Ian smiled cheerily, and then they went around the large apartment, in search of the kitchen. It didn’t take long to find and a few drinks later, they ran into Mandy in the living room. When she saw Mickey, she screamed at the top of her lungs in excitement and jumped him. Ian was just a little envious that he didn’t have the courage to do that earlier, well, maybe with less shrill.

“Yeah, great, you need to lay off the Captain Morgan,” Mickey glared, prying her off.

“You guys really are similar,” Ian commented, gesturing to how Mandy was clinging, and Mickey squinted at him, flushing.

“Fuck off.”

“Guys, oh my god,” Sean snickered, coming up to them, an empty glass bottle in hand. “Someone needs to have sex with me, like right now.”

When his eyes landed on Mandy, Mickey caught the look and smiled dangerously, his own blue eyes widening.

“If you need a hole to shove that dick in, the garbage disposal in the kitchen sink should do the trick. Want me to help you find it?”

“Uh,” Sean paused, shuddering at the thought and turned around. He bent over and tried to vomit but nothing came out except choking noises. Blake came up then too, obviously just as trashed because he fell over into Ian, chuckling.

“You, you, you,” he choked on air and grabbed at Ian’s shirt. “You’re hot, hottie, so hot.”

Ian nodded awkwardly and pat his shoulder, not knowing how else to react. 

“You two can bang each other,” Mickey said to Blake and Sean, holding onto Mandy because she was starting to fall over. “Fuck, how many times do I have to take my fucking sister home because of this shit?”

Ian rubbed Mandy’s shoulder and went with Mickey out of the apartment, into the hallway. Mickey looked completely pissed, checking Mandy's dazed eyes, her pulse, and forehead. She groaned and shook her head away from the touch, giggling for no reason. 

“She didn’t start getting this wasted until this year,” Ian admitted quietly while Mickey tried to keep her on her feet. They got closer to the parking lot and Mickey growled.

“She’s always been fucking bad. She drinks until she blacks out, man.”

“In high school, she didn’t seem. . . “

Ian stopped short because he couldn’t really remember ever going home with Mandy after high school parties because she always found someone to go fuck before it was over. Mickey was muttering curse words, trying to get Mandy down the stairs which was proving difficult with her slippery high heels. 

“Yeah, well, take it from someone who watched her go through dad’s liquor like water for the last five years. If you think I’m addicted to cigarettes, you haven’t seen addiction.”

“Mandy’s addicted to alcohol?” Ian asked, his steps slowing to a stop. Mickey looked back and when he did, Mandy’s head fell to his shoulder. 

“You didn’t know?”

Ian couldn’t help but feel himself sinking as he watched Mandy finally weaken and crumble towards the floor. Mickey jerked her back up before she hit the ground and lifted her in his arms instinctively.

“Fuck, I can’t carry her to my uncle’s.”

When they got outside, at the parking lot, Ian bit his thumb and looked away from them. Mickey sighed heavily and eased Mandy down on the ground, cradling her head with his hand, making sure she stayed leaned on him as he fished his phone out. He dialed a number and then spoke into the receiver.

“Hey, Lucas? Could you pick me up.”

There was a pause and Ian kept biting down on his thumb, close to drawing blood. Mickey gave an address and hung up, looking at Ian now.

“You okay?”

Ian shook his head and wrapped his arms around himself, gripping his own elbows.

“Hey, Mandy will be fine. She just needs to sleep it off," Mickey assured.

“I didn’t even know,” Ian laughed bitterly, eyes already brimming with tears. He cursed under his breath but didn’t blink so they would dry back up.

“Look, this isn’t your problem, she-”

“Yeah, it is,” Ian defended weakly, moving his hand away from his mouth to clutch his shaky arm.

“Ian, fuck,” Mickey breathed out, throwing his arm around Mandy to keep her set up straight, “Stop making this shit your responsibility. Mandy chooses to drink and you can’t-”

“I can!” Ian shouted and gave in, walking over to where they were sitting. He leaned down and reached out to brush the hair that was sticking to Mandy’s forehead off her face. “If I knew that she was an alcoholic, I could have done something, talked to her, hold her back. She never told me, I never paid attention, shit.”

Mickey didn’t respond, he just looked at Ian who hid his face and put his knuckles up to his mouth, speaking again.

“We all drink, I know that, but if she’s been addicted, _this_ bad, it’s just another thing she keeps to herself,” he mumbled, “Mandy doesn’t talk about your mom or dad, she doesn’t tell me what goes on behind closed doors with her boyfriends, she just shoulders it all. I wish I could have at least known about this, at least this.”

When Ian felt a tear slide down his face, he wiped it against his sleeve angrily.

“Then you should pin it on me,” Mickey pointed out, eyes on the sky. “I never do shit to stop her.”

“You’re stopping her now,” Ian crumbled, swiping another free falling tear.

“You know what I mean,” Mickey shot back. He shrugged out of his coat and draped it around Mandy’s shoulders when she shivered against him.

“I’m a shitty friend,” Ian murmured, hand on Mandy’s knee, inching closer to her and Mickey.

“A shitty friend wouldn’t cry,” Mickey responded seriously, lowering his head again to meet Ian’s eyes,”because they blame themselves for their friend’s pain.”

Ian stared back, sinking those words in. A warm breeze passed over them and it blew Ian’s hair across his eyes but he didn’t blink, neither did Mickey.

“Can you tell me why she does it?” Ian whispered, hoping Mickey would have an answer, anything to alleviate the pressure beating across his body. Mickey was hesitant, the natural Milkovich response when someone wanted in, but when he realized it was Ian, staring at him with all the concern in the world on his face, he answered just as quiet.

“She wants to forget.”

That was all Ian needed to break down. He hid his face again, in his sleeve over his knee, and tried to muffle his own pain, because he knew what that meant. Mandy didn’t want to talk about her parents, about her boyfriends, about school, about whatever sucked, she didn’t have to. She could drink it away, pretend she lived in a world where heartbreak didn’t exist.

“When my mom gets Mandy expensive shit, tries to doll her up in luxury instead of motherly love, Mandy always smiles, tells me about how great it is to be with mom, how great it is to be her daughter,” Mickey said lowly. Hearing his voice, Ian felt calmer, even if it hurt so much inside he wanted to scream. Mickey made a mocking sound in the back of his throat and went on.

“She says she doesn’t mind being around dad’s friends when they come by the house, doesn’t mind serving them food and wine. She hates dad, no fucking question there, but she jumps at the chance to be a trophy daughter.”

Ian’s sleeve was getting damper so he buried his face against the other arm, listening intently through silent tears.

“She dates assholes, overlooks the shit they do, but she wants to be a good girlfriend. She smiles and blabs to me about how awesome the fuckers are, all the time.”

Mickey still sounded far off while he continued, like this was unfamiliar grounds, but grew more resentful as the speech went on.

“At the end of the night, no matter how her day went, she goes to the cabinet, drinks until she falls out on the couch and I have to take her upstairs before dad catches her. Then, the next day, she does it all over again,” he finished off, scornful, letting how he felt about it slip out.

Whether it was supposed to make him feel better or not, Ian wasn’t sure, too mixed up in what he thought and felt about what he heard. Done crying now, even if the ache in his chest was still crushing him, he raised his head and moved closer to Mandy, put an arm around her, let his own breath go steady.

After just sitting there, doing what he could do for the time being, Ian finally could speak.

“Mickey?” he asked, brushing his sleeve over his face one last time.

“Yeah?” Mickey replied softly.

“Can I stay with you tonight too?” he wondered, afraid of being told no, because more than anything he didn’t want to be separated from Mandy right now.

“If you have to ask than maybe I’m the shitty friend,” Mickey exhaled, his head going back. When Ian heard the word ‘friend’, he cracked a slight smile, one that he needed.

A car pulled up then, shiny and black, stopping only feet from where they were sitting.

“My cousin,” Mickey declared, helping Mandy up, lifting her in his arms again. Ian stood up too and followed, eyes on the back of Mickey’s head. He watched him carry Mandy, how he held her against his chest protectively, not letting her head fall and how he peered down at her for a moment, losing face, looking crumpled and grief-stricken, apologetic, shaken.

Mickey’s cousin poked his head out the window once they were in earshot and Mickey went solid again. Before, Ian mistook that hardness, that aloofness. He thought it meant Mickey hid his emotions so that he could keep others at bay, protect himself.

But now, looking at Mickey, he felt like maybe that expression, that lack of crying, that was Mickey's way of staying strong for not only himself, but everyone else too. When they were by the car, Mickey put Mandy in the backseat, laid her down, and rather than get in, he moved back.

“You stay with her,” Mickey suggested and it felt like he was trusting Ian with something he would never entrust to anyone else. When Mickey went to climb into the passenger seat, Ian grabbed his arm, making Mickey turn his head.

“Mandy isn’t my only best friend,” Ian promised, hoping the message would get across, but couldn't bring himself to say anything more. Mickey halted his hand on the car door, thrown off by that.

Lucas rolled the car windows down and called out to them to get a move on things before turning the radio louder.

“You aren’t like me and my sister, you say whatever the hell you want,” Mickey said finally. Ian wasn’t sure how to take that but Mickey smiled reassuringly, replying to Ian's original statement, “You think I don’t fucking know that by now?”

“I don’t think you do,” Ian replied quickly. Mickey was thrown off another time. He laughed and opened his car door.

“Fuck, you’re getting too good at that shit,” he sighed, smoothing some of his tousled hair with his hand. He side glanced him and softened. “Okay, I guess I know now.”

Ian nodded, knowing that if it weren't for Mickey just talking, opening up about Mandy earlier, he wouldn't have known what to do in his break down. Mickey shook his head but there was a blush starting to come up his cheeks so he hopped in and shut the door. Ian slipped into the back, put Mandy’s head across his lap gently, and looked down at her sleeping face.

“Where’s your dorm, man?” Lucas shouted over the music, speeding out of the parking lot onto the road.

“He’s staying with us tonight,” Mickey told him, changing the radio station.

“Hey, you know I hate that, Mickey.”

“I know,” Mickey smirked. Then he looked out the window and saw Ian’s reflection in the side view mirror. When Ian looked up, he could see Mickey in the mirror too.

Mickey smiled a bit by accident and when Ian returned it, Mickey’s smile grew and so did Ian’s, like they had some secret now just for them.


	33. Only Into One

Ian slept on the floor by Mandy, who was in Lucas’ bed for the night, since after dropping them off Lucas went to crash at his girlfriend's place. When the morning came she woke up with a gasp and Ian shot up, fully awake, sitting next to her in a heartbeat.

“It’s okay, Mandy, we’re at your uncle’s house,” he reassured, gingerly rubbing her side.

“Headache,” Mandy groaned, pressing the bone of her wrist against the side of her face. He handed her some water and medicine which she took without a word, then when the glass was empty, she hugged Ian weakly.

“Sorry, Ian.”

“Don’t,” Ian whispered sweetly, letting her lay back down against the fluffed up pillow. He waited for her to wake up a little bit more before he said, “I’m not gonna let you get like that again.”

He didn’t bother mentioning that he knew about the alcoholism, how he knew what someone addicted to alcohol, like his dead beat father, was capable of, he just gave her a whimsical smile which made her giggle and shake her head up and down.

“Go back to sleep, the sun isn’t even out,” he ordered and that went over well because she was back out like a light, snoring against the pillow in no time.

Now, Ian wasn't the least bit sleepy so he grabbed his jeans and tugged them on, going into the living room where he expected to see Mickey asleep on the couch.

Mickey wasn’t there but he heard shuffling around in the kitchen so he poked his head in and instead found Mickey’s uncle grabbing a toaster strudel, kicking the fridge closed with his foot, popping a glass bottle of chocolate milk open with his free hand, and about to head Ian’s way until he saw him.

“Morning,” the uncle greeted warmly.

He reminded Ian of a lion, his shaggy hair out to his shoulders, unkempt, and he had after shadow on his face, adding to the _I just finished hibernating_ appeal, and his eyes were crystal blue like Mickey’s but they were so non-aggressive that Ian couldn’t believe this guy belonged to the same family.

“Morning,” Ian said back, careful with brevity here because he was dying to laugh at a grown man with a toaster strudel and chocolate milk in hand.

“Get whatever you want if you’re hungry,” the uncle told him, gesturing to the fridge and stove. He then gave him a little smile and went into the living room, gathering a few things from the coffee table.

“Thanks. You know where Mickey went?” Ian asked, swiveling.

“He’s probably having a smoke in the back of the apartment. His usual morning routine,” the uncle chuckled, muttering, “voila,” when he dug under the couch cushion, pocketing whatever he found. He went to the door and turned back to Ian.

“Thanks for watching out for my niece, Mickey told me you guys are like two peas in a pod,” he grinned and when Ian blushed, he said, “You kids should go play at the pool or gym, do something fun today and get school out of your system. I’ll see you tonight if you’re still here, if not, it was nice meeting you, Ian.”

“You too,” Ian nodded, recalling his name at last minute, “Rick, sir.”

Uncle Rick left and Ian stood there debating whether he should make breakfast or go find Mickey. He didn’t have to decide for very long, it was obvious what he was going to do from the beginning, and he was down the apartment exit stairwell, out into the cool morning, racing behind the building, his energy not spent enough because when he got a glimpse of Mickey, all his fibers went ablaze.

The glow from the low sun sent translucent highlights of coral and cream over the back parking lot, through the darkening leaves of trees in the area, and over Mickey’s own tranquil form, slouched back on top of a picnic table to the side of the lot. His cigarette was dangling almost forgotten between his fingers, draped over his pulled up knee.

Ian stepped up on the picnic table and sat next to Mickey, fully taking him in now that he was up close. Mickey didn’t even look at him, he just handed his cigarette over, watched a couple birds fly overhead, and let out the remainder of smoke from his parted lips. Ian dragged on the cigarette, gave it back, eyes staying on Mickey.

“Thanks for telling me about Mandy,” Ian murmured, referring to last night, hoping it was implied _thanks for letting me in_ , and crossed his arms over himself because it was chillier out than he expected.

“I thought you guys talked about every fucking thing anyways,” Mickey responded, brushing lips across the cigarette once more.

“Apparently that isn’t true,” Ian muttered, wishing it was.

He tugged on his own flannel sleeves, twisting the fabric thoughtlessly, anticipating the clench in his stomach as the night’s events flooded back, some which included Mickey opening up to the idea of being his best friend. That was enough, along with the other bonds building between them, to send him into the same hyper aware state he found himself in months ago with Mickey, that same yearning for more and more.

“You always do that when you’re anxious,” Mickey said pointedly, eyes on Ian’s twitchy fingers.

If it were Ian pointing that out about Mickey, he would have gotten an earful of denial, but being the honest soul that he was, Ian just looked up into Mickey’s eyes, and tugged at his own sleeves even more.

“Maybe it’s because I am,” he tried softly, heart drumming.

There was a flicker of something there in Mickey’s facade, concealed easily by Mickey though. Ian still caught it and wanted to pull out whatever it was but he wouldn’t, he wasn’t going to mess this up again.

“What are you nervous about?” Mickey evoked, still watching.

Okay, well, looks like Mickey was the one tilting the boat this time. Ian couldn’t believe Mickey didn’t just ignore the whole ordeal, meaning these escalating moments, and move on with the morning. He actually wanted into Ian’s private thoughts, even if there was a good chance the question could lead them in dangerous territory.

“Being this close to you,” Ian answered cautiously, his own fingers slowing down over his shirt.

Physically, mentally, emotionally, it was insufferably frightening how much of a hole Ian was digging himself in, making the same mistakes because it was hard to handle just being Mickey’s friend. Even if Mickey was giving in, letting his walls break, it didn’t mean he wanted the same thing. It didn’t stop Ian from continuously seeking justification for his own feelings unfortunately.

Mickey was quiet but he didn’t jerk away, he didn’t even look away, blue eyes almost forlorn, regretful to the last drop.

“Me too,” he answered, undertones of apprehension hanging on the words.

Then that’s when he pulled back, when he hopped off the picnic table, the inevitable always happening in the end.

Ian was so breathless by the confession, he didn’t hear Mickey cough uncomfortably, too in the midst of gathering himself to notice. Mickey stubbed his cigarette out on the edge of the table.

“Ay, what did Colt say to you yesterday?”

“Huh? Wha-?” Ian babbled, fidgeting even more profusely than before.

“How do you know him?” Mickey restated, not so much curious as he was resentful.

“No, not really, we don’t, I mean, we had gym, I think, I don’t really-”

“Stay away from him,” Mickey warned, “The guy is bad fucking news.”

“Isn’t that what you want me to believe about you?” Ian remarked hotly, still a little scatterbrained from the earlier - whatever that was.

“Well, you’re too naive to stay away from me but at least stay away from him.”

“Naive? Don’t you mean infatuated?” Ian exhaled, going with a new tact.

“Fuck,” Mickey seethed, grumbling a few inaudible things before saying, “What do you want here, man?”

“I - I don’t know,” Ian replied unsteadily, lacing his own fingers between each other. “I just want you, Mickey, I really fucking want all of you. I’m going crazy over you.”

That alone was either the stupidest or easiest way to relieve his stress he could have came up with. It felt like he just ran a mile in ten seconds, avoided obstacles by letting his intentions loose for once.

“I thought we established what this has to be,” Mickey dodged.

“We can rewrite the details,” Ian huffed nervously.

Mickey hopped over the picnic table then, over shirt fluttering behind him, sole of his sneakers pressed into the table by Ian’s leg and grabbed Ian’s face in his hands. He closed the distance, kissed him, light as a butterfly, sending shock waves over Ian’s tensed up body and before Ian could respond Mickey shuffled back, not letting go of Ian’s face.

“I can’t be more than that, I just can’t,” Mickey breathed hastily, “What the hell is so hard to understand?”

Because Ian felt Mickey’s precarious touch still on his own skin as he drowned in the scent of clean laundry detergent and smoke on Mickey’s clothes, and watched how faint the rising and falling of Mickey’s torso was from uncontrolled breathing, the speckles in his eyes panicked, Ian was fresh out of luck for a response.

“Stay away from Colt if he seeks you out because I know he will,” Mickey reminded, easily changing topic, jumping off the picnic table with no problem.

Ian was just a limp mess now, wobbling as he tried to ease off the picnic table himself to follow Mickey back into the building. He couldn’t even comprehend who the fuck Colt was at the moment, he just hazily followed Mickey wherever they were supposed to be going which happened to be his apartment of course. When they walked in, Mandy was on the couch, a sandwich in hand, humming to herself.

“Where did you two sneak off to?” she smirked into her food but it was cut off because Ian crushed her in his arms in relief.

“Ian, hey,” she smiled against him, hugging back.

“You okay?”

“I’m fine,” she gleamed earnestly as he moved back.

“Mickey told me.”

“Hm? About what?” 

“The alcohol.”

Mandy became fearful, defensive, the same as Mickey, but it died down as soon as it flared up. For a second, Ian expected her to deny it and call Mickey a liar, play it off, act reclusive, but she just smiled sadly at Ian upfront.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, Mandy, we can get through it together,” Ian promised, tilting her chin with his thumb. “Okay?”

“Thanks, Ian,” Mandy replied timidly, “For the millionth time. I think the day I stop being grateful for you is the day you need to shoot me.”

“Hey, don’t thank me, Mickey’s the one who cradled you when you were sick,” Ian smiled. He glanced back behind the couch but Mickey was no longer with them.

“He thinks I don’t know that he looks out for me,” Mandy murmured sadly, “I notice, I know.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes and Mandy pulled her phone out.

“You know, I was really starting to like Sean but I think he might be just as idiotic as all the other guys I meet.”

“I can’t help you there,” Ian laughed, watching her stare down a selfie of her and Sean from the party. “Maybe he’s worth it, maybe not.”

“I put myself through so much because I want someone to be worth it,” she sighed, deleting the picture. When text popped up asking if she really wanted to delete it, her finger hovered over the phone indecisively.

“How about you find someone who does that shit for you then, you know, tries to chase you, make you worth it.”

“I’ll do it if you do,” Mandy egged on, eyeing him.

“What?”

“Go after a guy who needs you as much as you need him, Ian, do that much for yourself.”

Ian looked down and played with his sleeves again, laughing when he noted what he was doing, never realizing before this was a nervous habit until Mickey said it.

It was true, Ian never felt needed by a guy, not any guy he’s ever hung out with or slept with. Deep inside, somewhere far down, he knew that Mickey needed him, even if he wouldn’t admit it, in his own way Mickey needed Ian. Ian certainly needed Mickey, more than he could ignore anymore, but was it really okay to go on like this?

Mickey said it couldn’t be more than what they had, for whatever reason, He didn’t need more in this, not the way Ian did. That kiss just now, that confrontation, it was a reminder that Mickey didn’t like to feel caged, couldn’t stand belonging to anyone.

“Okay, I guess you’re right,” Ian puffed out, slapping his hands over his jeans.

Mandy beamed and confirmed the deletion of her and Sean’s photo.

“But we don’t have to date anyone, Mandy, we’re fine on our own too,” Ian maintained, biting the inside of his cheek.

“There’s also nothing wrong with wanting to feel loved,” Mandy declared. Ian tapped his fingers against the couch and laughed.

“How about we don’t go looking for guys at parties then? I’m pretty sure that’s another one of our problems to add to the list.”

“Good point,” she snorted, cheeks hollowing. “Let’s scout the campus for some cuties today then, for fun.”

“That is such a bad idea,” Ian laughed, shaking his head.

In reality, what he wanted was to bust down whatever door Mickey was behind right now and shout his feelings out, kiss him, go further than that, mutter loving things in his ear, show him that it wouldn’t be so bad to fall into each other. Maybe that’s what he had to do, had to break off the _what if_ before it went out of proportion again, before he got ideas of moving on from Mickey or not. If Mickey rejected him, he at least could let go of the emotion, he would have to.

So, Ian lied about needing to go to the bathroom and went to the hallway behind them, found a door slanted open at the end of it, and slipped in. It was Lucas' bedroom and Mickey was in there, standing by the bed, face down on the key in his hand in deep thought.

“You okay in here, doomsday?” Ian chuckled, shutting the door behind him as quietly as he could as not to spook Mickey or make Mandy suspicious from the living room.

Mickey twirled the key ring, the key to the apartment, around his forefinger, eyes up, “I left this in here last night.”

Ian didn’t reply, he went for it and took a few strides forward, over the wooden flooring, glided his hands over Mickey’s face and looked into his eyes with as much amity as possible. Mickey didn't recline so he saved his words and leaned in.

He kissed Mickey, tasted him, lusted for him, held on to ground himself while he poured whatever he could into him, things Mickey would cower away from hearing so Ian would show it instead. He was asking permission, asking for rejection, asking for something that wasn’t _maybe_.

Ian eased back to catch Mickey’s reaction, his expression, whatever he could find to let him know if this had to be over right now or not.

Mickey wasn’t glowing, his eyes flew downwards and his shoulders fell, like he was defeated, not pushing or pulling.

“You kissed me outside, Mickey, you kissed me, okay? Just tell me if it was out of pity or not, please,” Ian begged, already feeling nauseous from Mickey’s reaction to what he just did.

“One day,” Mickey said, despair in his voice, “You’ll be glad you gave up on me.”

And Mickey wouldn’t look up, not even when Ian sort of shook him for an explanation, because when Mickey became so down like this, it was worse than his anger.

“I don't want to. I just want to know how to be around you. Just tell me straight up that I’ll never be anything to you or that I have a shot, that way I can stop feeling so shaky all the time.”

‘Christ, Ian,” Mickey muttered, voice shrinking.

“What are you afraid of? Your dad isn’t here to hurt you and I’m not going to hurt you. You’ve been intimate before, you’ve had close friends, why can’t I matter to you that way? What am I missing here?”

“You matter more than anyone ever fucking has,” Mickey glowered, breath sharp, getting out of Ian’s hold. “I can’t do this with you though, just trust me.”

“You promised you wouldn’t go anywhere, Mickey,” Ian replied, pulse elevating, “Don’t say I matter, don’t say that shit, not if you don’t mean it. Just tell me what to do.”

“There isn’t always a magical fucking answer that I can pull out of a goddamn top hat. I can’t say whatever I feel every fucking minute.”

Ian turned his head away, his face muscles twitching.

“So, do I just lie to myself forever? You know, I would be able to end my feelings for you if you didn’t make me think there’s a chance that you might actually-”

Ian had to stop there so he didn’t end up in a pool of tears in Mickey’s cousin’s room. He backed out towards the door and shook his head furiously.

“If I get a boyfriend, will you care?” he asked instead, over his knuckles that he raised to his quivering lips.

“What the hell am I supposed to say to that?”

“I don’t know,” Ian sighed in his hand, “Sorry, I keep pressuring you. I’m just not good with boundaries, not knowing if _this is okay and that isn’t_ , alright? I need something more definite so I don’t keep turning into a greedy asshole, cornering you like this.”

“You are an asshole,” Mickey said, smile tugging at his mouth, his emotions coming back full swing, “But you’re not greedy.”

“I'll get a boyfriend and that way I can try to get out of your hair,” Ian considered, knowing he had to come up with something. It wasn’t right to crowd Mickey, who wasn’t ready to become more, just because Ian wanted it.

“So, you’re going to fuck a guy because I won’t let you fuck me?” Mickey jeered, bite in his words.

“I don’t know,” Ian retorted, hating how desperate and pathetic it made him sound. “Why do you let me kiss you if you don’t want us to mean anything?”

“Stop making your fucking assumptions,” Mickey growled. Ian turned around and walked in front of him again.

“I’ll find a guy, get over you like you want, get one hundred percent commitment like I want, and it works out for both of us, doesn’t it? That way you don’t have to worry about us kissing and-”

Mickey jerked Ian forward and crashed his lips over his own angrily, digging his nails into Ian’s waist and the shock sent electricity shooting up Ian’s spine as he caught Mickey’s own breath in his throat, whimpering at the marks Mickey was making in his sides.

After regaining balance, hungrily, Ian kissed back, forgetting about the fight and blurred lines of their relationship, swallowing whatever anger Mickey was letting out into the fiery touches.

Ian tumbled back onto the bed because Mickey had pushed so far against him that it sent them both down. It didn’t deter Mickey from advancing, passionately exploring Ian lips and tongue and teeth with his own, causing Ian to gasp and dizzily moan into Mickey, his splayed arms coming up to touch the other wherever he could.

“I’ll hurt you eventually,” Mickey panted, kissing more frantically, fingers curling into Ian’s hair.

And Ian knew that he wasn’t talking about just having sex, he was talking about what he was always warning Ian of, with his words, with his body language, with every breath and bit of eye contact. He was telling Ian to stay away because Mickey was afraid of not being good enough.

“I might hurt you too,” Ian objected, muffled, not letting them disconnect. He cupped Mickey’s face more eagerly, nibbling his lips, excitement building up in his abdomen.

It was so unreal, Mickey’s heated skin under Ian’s fingertips, touching and caressing without control this time, too swept up in desire to hold back. He didn’t mind the marks Mickey was leaving, the biting on his lips, possibly bruising them, because Mickey was doing it and Ian craved every second of it.

When Mickey’s erection was evident, now pressing against Ian’s own through their jeans, Ian let out a pleasured gasp on accident which must have done something for Mickey because he was tugging Ian’s shirt up hurriedly. One he succeeded in removing the shirt, he was coming back in for more making out, but Ian dodged and kissed along his jaw and neck, unbuttoning Mickey’s own shirt.

“You don’t get it,” Mickey breathed out, aggressively attacking Ian’s lips again after his own shirt was tossed aside. In his aggression, he sank his teeth into Ian’s lower lip, ran his tongue along the soft flesh of it, and Ian sighed in bliss, his body responding on it’s own by pushing up into Mickey, needy and restless.

It wasn’t just because Mickey was roaming his hands on him, not just the physical contact, _that_ he could go have with anyone. It was the fact that it was Mickey, the guy Ian fell for a year ago, who was touching him, dissolving his own limits for Ian, going against his fear and instincts to show Ian that even though he was scared, he didn’t want to lose him.

“You don’t have to do this, I’m sorry,” Ian murmured, suddenly afraid that Mickey might be forcing himself.

Maybe it came on from fear, afraid that Ian would leave him behind, that this might just be a last resort to prevent Ian from calling off their friendship, relationship, everything. After all, just seconds ago, Ian was going on and on about getting a boyfriend, all because he was so fucking desperate for Mickey, so pushy, guilt tripping him into making decisions over and over.

“I won’t leave you alone,” Ian promised softly, brushing his lips across Mickey’s throat, letting his hands go more gentle over his back, “I’m sorry, you don’t have to, Mickey.”

Mickey stilled, breathing heavily by Ian’s ear, grazing his hand down Ian’s arm in an attempt to calm down. After a few seconds, he hopped off and buttoned his shirt back up, tossing Ian his own while falling down into the bed, eyes on the ceiling.

“Fuck,” he exhaled, not happily, not angrily, just took a second to get air back in his lungs.

Ian tugged his own shirt back on and laid back too, head turned so he could watch Mickey’s beautiful post make out face.

“I'm glad we didn't fuck in my cousin’s bed,” Mickey laughed and that let Ian’s own nerves settle, glad to know he didn’t completely fuck this up. Mickey blinked and inhaled again, letting his arm fall over his eyes, tired and spent.

“Sorry,” Ian tried another time, “I swear I won’t force this shit anymore, I won’t make you think-”

“Not fucking forced,” Mickey grimaced and then softened, “I mean, okay, I went against my better judgement but it’s not like I didn’t want to be with you.”

Ian’s heart fluttered out of his chest, through the glass of the window, and into the clouds.

“Be with me?”

“Oh my fucking God,” Mickey blushed, digging his nails now into his own hair, “Ian, if you haven't noticed by now, with how far I push myself for you, I’m not just luring you in to drop you, I’m not. You aren’t the only one fighting your fucking emotions, alright? I’m getting my shit together the best that I can but it’s not easy for me, not going to be easy for you either, that’s all I can tell you.”

Ian looked away because of course he was about to cry, like the soft, mushy, over sensitive being he was. At least while he swiped at his tears, not even attempting to mask them because Mickey could probably sense the waterworks without looking, he was glad they were happy for once. 

“I’m unstable, man,” Mickey admitted, letting out a held in breath.

He was admitting it for the first time out loud and Ian didn’t miss the way his fingers dug further into his scalp, his knuckles going ghostly white.

“Mickey,” Ian broke out, doing a good job of staying even voiced considering the tears slipping from the corners of his eyes.

“You don’t know the half of it, okay, Ian. You don’t know what I’ve been trying to save you from and if I can help it, you never will. That’s why, a part of me will always be conflicted, you can’t understand, trust me.”

Ian brushed more tears that fell away before he reached out and put his hand over Mickey’s clenched one. Mickey’s eyes were shut, squeezed tight, but the tension lessened as soon as Ian stroked his thumb over the back of his hand, and he loosened up.

“I’ll be there, Mickey, whether you need me, whether you don’t, I’m there.”

“Come on, man, don’t say that. Don’t wait around.”

“Well, I’m not leaving you alone.”

“I can’t tell if that stubbornness is a good or bad quality,” Mickey teased gently.

“Would you be happy if I went out with another guy then? That’s what you want me to say?”

“I don’t know, I’m too much of a wreck to know.”

Ian was at a loss, so he just pushed his fingers through Mickey’s hair, caressed it affectionately, tossed the strands in an attempt to alleviate him. Mickey let his arm fall from his face and he looked at Ian with heavy eyes.

“Sorry that I’m fucked up.”

“I’m fucked up too, no worries,” Ian smiled back. He knew that there was so much he wanted Mickey to confide with him but Mickey already did more than Ian deserved on a daily basis. 

Even though they were still tangled in their feelings, whether friendship, whether more than that, even if just the need for each other’s company, at least the misunderstandings were clearing up.

“When you’re ready, you can talk to me, Mickey,” Ian said seriously, wanting nothing more than to comfort whatever sadness was buried inside of Mickey. “You told me that so now I’m telling you.”

“I’m never going to get used to this getting in our feelings, teen sitcom drama shit, you know,” Mickey snorted. Ian laughed, playfully rubbing his hand across his hair again.

“At least this won’t end up with either of us pregnant at sixteen.”

“Mandy can take that role,” Mickey smirked and they both went into a fit of laughter. Both of their built up anxieties released into the room, emptying out around them as Mickey took Ian's hand into his own and turned over, stiffing his laughter into Ian's wrist. 

The door flew open and Mandy raised an eyebrow at the sight, hand going to her hip.

“Ian, what the hell, I waited for like fifteen minutes for you.”

“Sorry,” Ian snickered, covering his face, “It’s not my fault.”

“Is anything ever your goddamn fault?” Mickey snorted, letting go of his hand, getting up and pushing Mandy out of the way to the hallway. Mandy seemed skeptical but said nothing about what she witnessed as Ian got up too, fixing his hair and shirt.

When the three were in the living room, Mandy eyed Mickey and then smirked at Ian.

“So, we still boyfriend scoping?”

Ian flushed and flickered his eyes to Mickey who seemed nonchalant. He went to open the apartment door and leaned against it, waiting.

“I think I'll tag along. You guys are shit at picking out guys.”

“Uh,” Ian stammered, not knowing if Mickey helping him find a date was supposed to be good or not. Mickey had that confident aura back though, like it honestly didn’t bother him, like he was excited by the idea, a twisted sense of amusement in Ian's opinion.

Mickey did say he wasn’t exactly ready for a relationship but he was also vowing not to disappear from the face of the Earth anytime soon, sticking by Ian’s side, dealing with his own inner issues in the mean time. That in itself must have meant that maybe the attached but unattached thing they had going was the healthiest they could get, for now.

“Well, that’s a fucking shock,” Mandy gaped, moving Mickey now out of the way so she could get to the hallway first. "I doubt your ass is much better."

She whipped her phone out and typed away as Ian finished putting his shoes on. When Ian got up, he went to the door, flushing because Mickey looked so attractive, lips swollen from their kissing, dark hair disheveled because Ian's hands went through it, and knowing that in this sense he left his own marks on Mickey, made him more satisfied than he deemed possible. 

“I wonder what kind of guys you’re into,” Mickey said low enough for just Ian to hear as he brushed by him.

“Really only into one,” Ian whispered back, meeting Mandy in the hall, wishing he could have got a glimpse at Mickey’s expression.

“Maybe we can find you your own cuddle buddy, Mick, or in your case, a nice fuck,” Mandy told Mickey as they went down the hallway.

"Fuck off."

Mickey and Ian met eyes and they both smiled, Ian pushing Mickey behind Mandy’s back, and Mickey quickly throwing a kick to his ankle. Mandy never noticed through all her chatter, on the way across the street and down the sidewalk, how much they were silently showing each other how they felt.


	34. Live as If You'll Die Today

When Mickey swooped down across from Ian at the table on the campus lawn, it didn't phase him in the slightest. He continued jotting in his notebook, not even bothering with a greeting. Mickey didn't bother either, he just leaned across the table, eyes piercing.

"Is this a joke? I'm going out of my fucking mind, Ian. If you don't write the next chapter, we can't hang anymore."

To make a point, he slammed a wad of printed papers, pinned together by a paperclip, under Ian's nose.

"Do you know what it's like to get all built up and then, bam, you get a big 'ol fucking cliffhanger? Great writing, asshole."

"Great, huh? Glad you liked it, Mickey," Ian smiled cheerily, amused at how Mickey was so engrossed in his writing, praising him unknowingly, even through frustration.

"Sorry that I'm a little pissed because after reading your amazing piece of shit chapter I had to go back to the nightmare that is 'Catcher in The Rye'. You know what that's like?"

"It's funny how I'm the English major yet you've probably read ten lifetimes worth more than anybody in Chicago. Hey, that was a good story, a bunch of interesting themes."

"That what they tell you in college lit?" Mickey grumbled but he cooled down and leaned back, opening the hardback book he brought with him. He didn’t say anything for a few minutes, slouching a little, clearly still bugged.

"Is she going to die?" Mickey blurted, eyes on the book in hand, but not talking about that one. Ian pretended not to hear so Mickey glowered, "Is Madison going to die, goddammit?"

"Thought you could predict plots," Ian grinned, scribbling more of his draft in front of him.

"Not yours," Mickey snarled and Ian chirped up, trying to hide that it was his goal to hear that in the first place. Mickey looked over his book and squinted, "Ay, are you writing the next part right now?"

"I don't know, might be," Ian shrugged, chewing on his pen briefly before scrawling more notes.

They were interrupted when someone sat down, slid right next to Ian, prompting him to look up from his notebook.

"Hi," the boy greeted awkwardly, clearly embarrassed.

"Hey, Tommy," Ian acknowledged, ignoring the smug look Mickey was sporting, half hidden behind his novel.

"What are you writing?" Tommy stuttered, hands holding the straps of his backpack nervously.

"Story, a short one for fun," Ian replied, tapping his pen against the table. Tommy looked impressed and his leg started to bounce up and down.

"That's really cool. I'm not all that great with papers. Maybe you can give me some tips," he flushed again, "If you have time, I mean."

"Sure," Ian responded easily and Tommy reddened like a fire hydrant. He jumped up and flashed a smile before rushing off, probably to class, or to hide his boner.

"Hm," Mickey purposefully let slip from behind the book in his face.

"Have something to say, Mick?"

"I didn't realize your taste in guys included golden-hearted twelve year old boys with a record so fucking clean you could see your own reflection in it."

"He's _not_ my taste," Ian sighed, "you dick."

"You gave the kid your number yesterday, I was there."

"I felt bad," Ian defended and then he smiled slightly, reaching his foot out to playfully tap Mickey's under the table, "Or maybe I can get into the shy boy appeal."

"Really? Would go against whatever fucking appeal you have now," Mickey grumbled hitting Ian's foot back with his own.

"Which is. . ?" Ian provoked, rubbing the side of his shoe up against Mickey's ankle, sliding his sock down slowly. Mickey peeked over his book and smirked.

“All the guys you drool over are douche bag athletes.”

“I like staying in shape so I guess I can appreciate someone who does the same,” Ian snorted, still massaging Mickey’s ankle playfully.

“If you want to date a sack of bricks,” Mickey grunted, clearly trying not to get distracted by Ian’s touching even if the glow on his face was betraying him.

“Liking sports and working out doesn’t make you stupid, Mickey,” Ian replied, annoyed now.

“Okay, damn, but you can’t tell me you gawked at those shirtless joggers with Mandy yesterday and thought ‘those guys look fucking smart’.”

“Nope, that wasn’t my first though,” Ian chortled, tracing circles with the tip of his shoe against a little skin above Mickey’s ankle, after successfully pushing up the denim that was covering it.

Mickey glared, shut his book, and ripped his leg away, stepped over the table between them and sat on it, swiping his thumb across his bottom lip.

Ian smiled innocently and dropped his pen, crossed his arms over the table space by Mickey’s thigh and batted his eyelashes. They had a mini stare off until Ian couldn’t handle it and chuckled.

“Me and Mandy got dates tonight, haven’t decided where to go. Got any ideas?”

“Which numbers are you taking?” Mickey scoffed.

“Numbers? You mean you remember the phone numbers of the dudes we picked up yesterday but not their names? Is that what they are to you?” Ian laughed, throwing his hands out.

“What the hell else would they be? I told you, you and Mandy are shit at men.”

“Come on, you shot down every dude we went for, Mick, made up a crazy scenario with all of ‘em. How the hell am I going to go on a date with your voice in the back of my mind saying ‘this guy has to spend his days off watching little kids play at the park’?”

“I don’t trust them,” Mickey shrugged, “Something has to be wrong with them.”

“What? You think something has to be wrong for someone to like me?” Ian countered, tearing his eyes away from Mickey, feeling the sting of his words.

“No, dumb ass,” Mickey recovered and then peered down, “That’s not what I’m saying.”

“Well, what do you mean then? I’m not good enough for an actual nice fucking guy who wants to get to know me instead of get in my pants?”

“No, shit, you’re putting words in my mouth,” Mickey objected gravely.

Ian didn’t say anything, he wouldn’t look up because he was getting upset, so Mickey sighed.

“Ian, nobody is ever going to be good enough for you or Mandy,” he explained, moving a hand through his hair. Ian looked up and Mickey seemed uncomfortable but met his eyes anyways. Ian waited but he couldn’t help but smile after a minute.

“Want to come stalk us in the bushes then? You can dress up in a disguise and everything, make sure these guys are upstanding citizens,” he suggested. Mickey rolled his eyes.

“You better get the assholes to pay for everything, go to a fancy restaurant, suck them dry.”

“Suck them dry, huh, sure about that?” Ian smirked and Mickey shoved his shoulder, chuckling lightly.

“Shut the fuck up.”

Ian took Mickey’s hand and brushed his lips across the knuckles, peeking up deviously.

“I think you don’t care about this date because you know I would rather go with you.”

Mickey blushed, laughter dying.

“I’d rather,” Ian began, tugging Mickey’s wrist a little so that they were more eye level, “do math equations with you than fuck this guy, you know that, huh?”

It was too cute how flustered Mickey got, eyes widening, perplexed and embarrassed. He seemed to find his confidence again though quickly because he held Ian’s hand back, hint of a smile on his face.

“Really? Math equations? I don’t remember helping you with any college work lately.”

“Yeah, well, that's because most of my classes are general right now, stuff we did in high school. Thanks to you, I’m passing with flying colors.”

“You got Chemistry again?” Mickey snorted, mindlessly squeezing and releasing Ian’s fingers.

“And Physics, I have to take two sciences, get them out of the way,” Ian told him, his heart never getting used to Mickey touching back.

“Let me know if you need something then,” Mickey responded calmly and Ian was blushing like mad now. Somehow Mickey always turned things around, made him the one thrown off and nervous. For a split second he thought Mickey was going to kiss him because he moved closer, just a few breaths apart, and looked up enticingly, lazily smiling.

“Have fun on your date,” he said but before he could move away, Ian tightened his hold on Mickey’s hand and draped his free one across Mickey’s arm, blinking up longingly. Mickey looked back and forth at Ian’s eyes, unspoken things passing between them.

“I should get to class,” Ian broke out nervously but that idea was ended by Mickey tilting his head and kissing him, lingering for longer than could be considered a peck, fingers touching the side of Ian’s neck briefly, sending a shudder through him.

Ian was two seconds from pulling Mickey down on himself until Mickey moved back and jumped off the table, snagging his book in the process.

“Like I said, get your Channing Tatum off brand to spend all his money before the night is up,” Mickey reminded, walking off with light steps, a lot more peppy than usual, and threw a quick, sly smile over his shoulder before he got out of sight.

 

“This place looks nice,” Mandy muttered to Ian when they hopped out of the white BMW. The place they were in front of was snazzy and elegant, so much that Ian felt a little under dressed.

The two guys hopping out from the driver and passenger seats were roommates, two guys Mandy and Ian met yesterday on campus. When one of them turned out to be gay, they suggested the whole double date thing, thinking it would be fun to go hang out as a group.

“It’s a Jazz club,” Ian murmured to Mandy when they reached the door. Ian was about to grab it but his date insisted, obviously playing the gentleman card, but that was a new one for Ian, considering South Side guys didn’t take him on dates in the first place, so he gladly nodded his thanks and went inside.

“Fancy,” Ian commented out loud once they were all inside, waiting to be seated. He knew Mandy was used to this kind of thing, going to expensive dinners, but he certainly was not. The closest he’s ever been to a lobster was seeing them tanked up at the grocery store.

A host showed them to the velvety floor, seated them at a booth, in the back of the venue. The room was full of people chattering in low voices with jazzy scores coming from the band on stage upfront. Once they were seated, Mandy’s date, Ben, started asking the two of them questions about where they were from, what kind of stuff they were into, the standard meet and greet.

Ben was definitely a looker, totally Mandy’s type, and Ian’s date, Jake, was as smoking himself. So far, neither guy gave off any bad vibes, Ian noted to rub in Mickey’s face later, and they were all laughing and having a good time, enjoying the music and conversation.

Ian excused himself to go to the restroom before their food came, trying to cross the dark room without disturbing anybody’s view of the band. When he got closer to the front, near the back hall with the restroom sign, he stopped in place. At first he assumed he had to be seeing things and rubbed his eyes but when he realized he wasn’t, his jaw dropped.

Sitting in a booth to the far right of the stage was Mickey, dressed in a long frock coat, stark white button up, felt brimmed fedora fitted on his head, tapping a black leather shoe to the upbeat jazz music. He was bobbing his head a little, reading over the shiny menu in his face.

Ian didn’t know if he should be shocked, enraged, or ecstatic to see him. He glanced back at his table, finding Mandy and their dates engrossed in laughter, and then weaved through the tables to the other side of the room, falling into the booth cushion in front of Mickey.

Smoothly, Mickey kept a game face, still swaying a little to the jazzy ensemble, not lifting his eyes.

“The 1920’s called and they want that getup back,” Ian signaled, waving his hands, trying to come off as irritated, but it ended up teasing.

“Disguise was your idea,” Mickey snorted, rolling his fingers over the table in sync with the piano behind them.

“You’re actually spying on me and Mandy? Don’t you have better things to do?”

“I like Jazz music, why else would I be here?” Mickey asked in disbelief, the corner of his mouth curving a bit, revealing the dimples on his face.

“You kidding me?”

“Oh, hey, they got burgers. Thank God, I did not want any snail and slug shit.”

“Are you talking about Escargot?”

“Oh, excuse me, I forgot you took French,” Mickey muttered. “Last year, when you chanted it under your breath before a test, I sometimes thought it was Latin. You sounded fucking possessed and I was _this_ close to exorcising your ass.”

“Mickey,” Ian sighed, wanting to be mad at him for being here, but he smiled nonetheless. Even dressed like a retired mafia boss, Mickey was still stunning beyond words.

The band changed tune and Mickey’s eyes lit up, his fingers picking up speed to the bass and drums. He drank the ice water on the table, automatically putting it out to Ian, the way he automatically shared everything else with him.

“I have to take a piss and get back to my date,” Ian remarked after sipping the water, not even thirsty but unable to reject anything Mickey offered.

“You do that,” Mickey smirked, finally looking at him. Even in this dark lighting, Ian could see the various shades in Mickey’s deep eyes and he knew if he stayed much longer he would get lost in them.

“Is this fun for you?” Ian hinted.

“Yeah, I don’t get tired of a good band. These guys are kicking ass up there,” Mickey avoided, turning in his seat to watch them.

Ian wondered what would happen if he didn’t even return to the table with the others and just stayed here with Mickey for the rest of the night, soaking up the smooth music, drinking free water and eating big ass burgers until the club closed. It was so wrong to have that thought, to drop everyone and everything for Mickey, this guy who didn’t exactly want an 'I Love Lucy' romance, but Ian would do it, he knew he would at any second.

The piece changed to a silkier tone, slower, softer piano and heavier saxophone. Mickey turned back around and shrugged his shoulders, cocking his head to the side.

“Thought you had somewhere to be,” he said.

“What are you trying to do here, Mickey? You can’t just show up and crash my date like this.”

Mickey stared at him for a moment and then turned his head when the waitress showed up to get his order. Ian waited for her to leave before he spoke again.

“I gotta get back. You take the L here?”

“I don’t exactly have an S-Class,” Mickey responded, eyes flying in the direction where Mandy and the two guys were sitting.

Ian’s ears picked up and he bit his nail, recognizing the song that the band was playing now. There was nobody singing the vocals on stage but he could tell it was a cover of something he heard before, the lyrics somewhere in the back of his mind. It finally hit him and he got excited.

“Hey, they’re covering Bon Iver. It’s, uh, what is it. . . Oh, yeah, it’s ‘I Can’t Make You Love Me.’ I love this fucking song.”

Mickey looked amused and sipped on his water again as Ian hummed with the improvising instruments that were blending beautifully together, the piano and trumpets romantic, progressing into a melancholic, charming tone.

“I can’t make you love me if you don’t,” Ian mumbled, half-sang, along with the chorus, recalling the rest of the lyrics, “you can’t make your heart feel something it won’t.”

The cover was so pretty, Ian wondered if he could find it later online and sync it on his phone. As the song was coming to a close, he snapped his head away from the band and found Mickey watching him, not smiling like before.

“I really need to pee before I empty out on this seat,” Ian coughed and stood up, awkwardly leaving to the restroom.

When he was done and got back to his table, trying his best not to find Mickey in the room with his eyes, everyone made fun of how long it took him. After a few jokes, they went into random conversations and Mandy seemed to be having a great time at least. Ian knew he could too if it weren’t for the image of Mickey staring at him, during the Bon Iver song earlier, playing over and over in his mind.

Apparently, like Ian and Mandy, Ben and Jake had known each other since Freshman year of high school, and they were college Sophomores now, rooming together off campus. Mandy and her date couldn’t stop flirting but Jake seemed more laid back about that, choosing to have friendlier conversation with Ian instead since it was the first date. Jake was pretty interesting, he had a lot in common with Ian as far as opinions and things they liked. He suggested going to the Gym together sometime and maybe catching a Rugby game too which Ian looked forward to.

When they were done eating, Ian searched for Mickey as they left but he wasn’t at his booth anymore.

Outside, the evening sky was strikingly bright, almost fluorescent purple and neon pink.

“You guys want to come to the apartment?” Ben asked when they were all standing in front of the club on the sidewalk.

“Yes,” Mandy answered, no hesitation, swooning without shame. She quickly looked at Ian, grinning, trying to communicate with her facial expression how great this night has been.

“How about you, Ian?” Jake asked hopingly.

The faint sounds of the jazz from the club had Ian drifting back to Mickey again and in that moment, he actually did see Mickey, going down the end of the sidewalk beyond a crowd of people behind Jake.

“Uh, maybe, next time,” Ian exhaled apologetically, “There’s actually somewhere I wanted to check out in this area.”

It was such a lame excuse that Mandy shot him a confused expression, demanding an explanation.

“Sorry, I had a lot of fun, I just gotta be somewhere,” Ian lied, on edge, as Mickey’s coat tail disappeared around the corner.

“We can drop you off,” Jake offered, concerned.

Ben already had his arm snaked around Mandy and lead her back to the car. Ian shook his head rapidly, hoping he wasn’t acting too suspicious, even though he knew there was no way he wasn’t.

“I’ll call you later,” he finished curtly, “Thanks for dinner.”

Then Ian went through the crowd, feeling like an asshole, but it didn’t stop him from rounding that street corner, scanning endlessly. To his surprise, Mickey was leaning on the brick of the building, smoking, looking at him expectantly.

“Dream as if you’ll live forever. Live as if you’ll die today,” Mickey drawled, lowering the cigarette. He stood out, looking like a black and white cut out among the blurs of neon signs and colorfully dressed people walking around them.

“What?” Ian asked, astounded, pocketing his hands, trying to play cool like he didn’t just blow off his date and run down the street for him.

“It’s a James Dean quote,” Mickey shrugged, “Thought it was fitting.”

“Is that your way of flirting with me?” Ian gaped, grabbing Mickey’s cigarette and smoking it with a laugh. “Who the hell our age is into James Dean?”

“If you were into normal guys our age,” Mickey started, taking his cigarette back, “that like normal things, we wouldn’t be having this conversation, would we?”

Ian gulped and took that in. He stared at Mickey as he finished off the rest of his smoke and put it out on the sidewalk. Mickey peered up and shaded his eyes from the brightness of the blazing sky, then he looked back down and broke out into a grin.

Ian should have been pissed at himself for choosing Mickey all over again instead of going for that other guy, when there might not be a chance Mickey will ever return all of his feelings, but here he was, by Mickey’s side at the drop of a hat like he knew he would be.

Mickey tipped his fedora out of his eyes, keeping up his Cheshire cat smile, and looked into Ian's face.

“I don’t have a Bentz but I have killer tickets for the train, V.I.P seats and everything,” he proposed. Ian laughed.

“Shut the hell up, there’s no special cart on the L.”

“Worth a shot,” Mickey laughed back. Ian pushed him and Mickey pushed back, sending them both into their frenzy of play fighting.

When they got closer to the train stop, still swatting at each other, ascending the stairs, Mickey suddenly reached out and grabbed Ian’s hand. Ian went crimson and allowed Mickey to pull him up the stairs.

“You don’t have to bolt on me this time, got it? I won’t say any stupid shit,” Mickey said suddenly, backing towards the train tracks, bringing Ian with him.

As the train hummed closer along the tracks, Mickey softened and Ian read in his face what he meant. Last time they rode the L together, it ended with everything going wrong.

“If you say stupid shit, I’ll listen and talk to you instead of running off,” Ian promised, hoping Mickey would understand that they shared the blame for that incident.

“Yeah, okay,” Mickey replied gratefully. He dropped Ian’s hand as the doors to the L opened up for them and took his hat off. “I can’t believe I wore this shit all night.”

“Come on, Sinatra,” Ian chuckled, throwing his arm around Mickey’s shoulders, dragging him into the train cart. They dropped down into a couple of empty seats and Mickey looked at him squarely.

“You scold me on Dean and you know Sinatra? You prick.”

“Your weirdness is contagious,” Ian retorted, keeping his arm around Mickey who wasn’t objecting. Mickey said nothing and looked out the window, only for a few minutes, before he glanced around the cart and found it was nearly empty. He then threw his head back on Ian’s arm and yawned quietly, closing his eyes.

“Wake me when we get there,” he said, nestling his head into the crook of Ian’s elbow, “Or don’t, I don’t give a shit.”

Ian smiled and shifted just a bit closer as the train pulled off. When Mickey actually fell asleep, which was saying something about his trust in Ian to do it in public, his head rolled slightly into Ian’s shoulder and neck and he grumbled.

Ian debated waking him once it got to their stop, but he didn’t, he just stuck in some earplugs and listened to the music on his phone as the train kept going and going, not caring if it would ever stop.

  
  
  
  



	35. It's Up to Me

“They’re pretty cute, right?” Mandy asked, squatting next to Mickey, under the tree by the clock tower and fountain. Mickey glared at her when she sat down and fixed his eyes back out on the lawn, on Ian and Jake playing ghetto rugby with some other college kids.

“You should go play with them,” Mandy suggested, smirking, and Mickey returned his head to the papers on his lap, writing little notes in the margins. Mandy smirked more and crossed her arms over her knees.

‘Jake’s pretty hot, I’d be all over that if it weren’t for Ben.”

“And the fact that he’s into dick?” Mickey glowered, scribbling furiously.

“Whatcha writing?”

“Tutoring shit,” he replied and against his better judgement, watched Ian again who was running out on the grass, catching the rugby ball and laughing as Jake tackled him.

“I wonder if they’ll start dating soon or if they’ve kissed,” Mandy said slowly, also watching them. When Ian and Jake rolled over the grass and got up, Mickey tore his eyes away.

“It’s none of your fucking business,” he grumbled, scratching out some lines on the paper. He was about to add a few more colorful lines but he jumped and let go of his pen when someone plopped next to him.

“We won,” Ian declared, pushing into Mickey’s side, fanning out his shirt, panting for air.

“By one point,” Jake put in, coming over, handing his water bottle to Ian. Mickey was very aware of Ian’s body heat rolling off on him and the fact that he was not too subtly leaning his weight into him. Ian took a long gulp from the water and handed it back, sighing in content. He then turned his eyes to Mickey.

“Hey, you doing work?”

“Yeah,” Mickey replied shortly, a little at a loss for words because Ian was all in his space, their cheeks almost mashed together as he tried to peek at the essays in his lap.

“Can I play with next game?” Mandy asked, standing up, stretching her arms out over her head.

“Wanna tango with the big boys?” Jake grinned, “Bring it.”

“I don’t wanna tango, I wanna kick your ass,” she stated honestly, cracking her knuckles and Jake let out an impressed whistle.

“Alright, come on. I’ll let Ben know if you suck or not.”

“He already knows I suck,” Mandy winked and that made Jake laugh as they walked back out to where the other guys were starting a new round.

“Coming, Ian?” Jake called over his shoulder.

“I’ll play next match, I’m taking a quick break,” Ian shouted.

Jake gave him a thumbs up and went off. Mickey felt stuck in place, trying his best to focus on the work he needed to do but Ian being right over his shoulder, practically breathing down his neck, made him blank out.

“You spelled that wrong,” Ian said softly and when Mickey searched the paper for what he was talking about, Ian chuckled. Mickey glared half heatedly.

“Hey, I didn’t write this shit.”

“You wrote this though, didn’t you?” Ian countered, gently placing his fingers around Mickey’s so he could guide the pen in his hand to the red ink at the bottom margin and cross out a word, writing the correct above it. “I think you meant to write ‘I am’, not ‘Ian’.”

“Goddammit,” Mickey muttered, for lack of better explanation than that his mind was way too invested in the red head right now.

“Thinking about me?” Ian challenged lightly and Mickey squinted, deciding it’s best not to respond to that before he was in deeper shit. Eventually, he couldn’t take the smirk playing on Ian’s face and gave in.

“You trying to get at something here?” he asked, turning his head but that was a mistake because Ian was so close him, head tilted, smiling attentively.

“We both know what I’m getting at,” Ian alluded playfully.

“Don’t you got more football - rugby - whatever to play?”

“Yeah, but Mandy’s playing now and she scares me,” Ian laughed. Mickey rolled his over shirt sleeves up and pushed Ian to the ground, smirking.

“Sure you should be scared of her, tough guy?”

Ian sat up and grabbed Mickey’s wrists, trying to pin him down but Mickey rolled out of his grip so that he had the upper hand again. The college papers spewed out onto the grass around them as they grappled and moved out of each other’s holds, hyped from the energy of it.

“You’re pretty strong for a guy who doesn’t go to the gym,” Ian teased when Mickey got on top of him, their hands connecting.

“Remember that next time you think I can’t kick your ass.”

“Well, I don’t remember thinking that,” Ian replied, sliding his leg up so he could flip Mickey off of him and get on top now. Mickey struggled but Ian didn’t waver. “But maybe I do now.”

“Fuck off,” Mickey smiled, squirming to get free.

When Ian looked down at Mickey, he couldn’t help but think the scars on his arms were beautiful in the sunlight. Of course, they were still horrible reminders of the shit that Mickey went through but watching Mickey voluntarily show them now, revealing them in broad daylight instead of hiding them out of shame, was beautiful to Ian. It was proof that, yeah, he went through pain, but he was still alive, still breathing with a beating heart, still able to smile, still able to be here.

“Okay, I’m not the one who took fucking army class in high school,” Mickey defended, having trouble getting out from under Ian.

“Maybe you should have,” Ian tried back, grasping lightly at Mickey’s hands which were flailing around to get him off. Then Ian’s breath caught because Mickey twisted, broke free, and had him rolled over and pinned in just a few seconds, restraining his hands, eyes triumphant as he trapped Ian’s legs.

“You think I didn’t learn how to fight guys bigger than me growing up?” Mickey questioned. Ian didn’t even fight back, he was weirdly proud, even though he lost.

Then it dawned on him that of course Mickey was a fighter, had to know how to squeeze out of tight holds, had to know how to get away when he was in danger, of course Mickey had to know that.

“You should see Mick when he’s angry, he’s not even being serious,” Mandy’s voice hummed, strolling up to them, giving Ian a knowing look at catching them together. Mickey moved off quickly and shot her a deadly stare, discomfort settling once Jake came up too.

“You said you would play the next game, right?” Jake asked, indifferent to what he just saw, and reached his hand down to help Ian stand up.

“Yeah, let’s go,” Ian chirped and when Jake jogged off, he glanced down at Mickey.

“You’re not off the hook,” Ian warned. Mickey smirked.

“Anywhere, anytime, you know where I live.”

“Is that a threat or an invitation?”

They just shot their eyebrows up at each other and as Mickey swiped his thumb over his bottom lip, Ian had to walk away before he wrestled Mickey all over again. When he was gone, Mandy put a hand on her hip.

“So, uh, you guys been hooking up?”

“Should we invest in a muzzle at this point?” Mickey asked, gathering the papers from the ground so he could finish working. “Asking politely has been a waste, seems like.”

“You call asking me to shut the fuck up, polite?”

“On our terms, yeah,” Mickey remarked, almost offended that she didn’t know that. She sighed and shook her head.

“So, here's the deal. Ian and I both have General Psych and we have an experiment to do over the weekend. Mind if we come crash at uncle Rick’s tonight and Saturday? Sean and my bitchy roommate will be annoying as hell to deal with.”

“What do you have to do?” Mickey grunted, finally done stacking the papers over his knee.

“We’re gonna stay up for three days straight and write down our feelings and thoughts every hour.”

“You two doing that? Are you out of your fucking mind? You both suck at keeping yourself awake when you’re tired,” Mickey snorted.

“That’s why we’re partnering up so we'll keep each other awake,” Mandy disclosed, wiggling her nose. “Just tell Rick we’re coming.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Mickey shrugged and Mandy pursed her lips, hesitant on her next topic. She decided to go for it and spoke.

“I ran into Colt yesterday.”

“What?” Mickey exclaimed, feeling like she might as well have slapped him across the face just now.

“He came out of nowhere yesterday, when I was going to meet Ben," Mandy glowered, "The asshole wanted to go fuck around as soon as I told him I was meeting my boyfriend so I flipped him off. I can’t believe that bastard goes here, it makes me want to puke.”

“I ran into him already, he knows Ian somehow,” Mickey scoffed.

“If he tries to talk to Ian, his nuts are getting ripped clean off,” Mandy sneered. Mickey took comfort knowing they were on the same page about that. Mandy scratched her hair and then got ready to leave but before she did, she bit her lip.

“Hey, you think Davey and Parker are with him?”

“Don’t know, don’t give a fuck,” Mickey responded, making it clear that she should stop before she got ahead of herself. She nodded and then gave him the ever so friendly bird before going to watch the rugby game.

 

When Mickey got home, he threw his over shirt on the couch and went to the kitchen, where he heard the rustling of pots and pans.

“Ay, Rick, is it cool if-”

He stopped when he saw uncle Rick at the stove, throwing meat and seasoning onto a sizzling pan, using a hand towel in order to ward the smoke away from his face. At the island, behind the stove, a boy his age in a baby blue V-neck with short, fawn colored hair and beetle wing green eyes was drinking out of a mug. He set the mug down as soon as he saw Mickey, looking just as shocked, like he had no goddamn clue Mickey lived here, like he was the one who should be surprised.

“Hey, Mick, I got off work and guess who I picked up in front of the apartment?” his uncle beamed, pushing the meat in the pan around with a wooden spatula. Mickey stayed silent and stared, trying to piece together if this was a joke or a punishment.

“Hey, Mickey,” the boy said quietly, turning on the stool, looking like he wanted to jump up but knew better than to do that.

“Can you believe Parker lives a few blocks from here? I haven’t seen this kid in years,” Rick said, shaking his head in disbelief, still pushing the food on the pan around.

“Mandy and Ian want to stay over this weekend, that cool?” Mickey blurted, holding his tongue from all the profanity and screaming he didn’t want to let slip out.

Rick looked back at him questioningly, clearly wondering why Mikey wasn’t acknowledging his friend, but Mickey didn't care, he just waited for an answer, not watching as Parker slid off the stool.

“Uh, yeah, it’s okay. You make more money than me, hell, this might as well be your apartment,” his uncle joked, trying to lighten up the mood because he sensed the unsettling air now.

“Thanks, I need to head out. See you tonight for dinner.”

“You just got home. You don’t want lunch?” Rick asked, tilting his head towards Parker, silently trying to get a clue of why Mickey was acting this way.

“Thanks but gotta go,” Mickey ended, rushing back into the living room to grab his over shirt again and flung the door open and closed so fast, he might have broken the hinges.

On his way out of the apartment, he tried to calm himself, tried to remember what it was like to breathe normally, tried to look around and decide on where to go so he didn’t crumble in this parking lot.

“Mickey,” Parker called, racing down the stairs after him. Oh fuck, no, no, no. This was not happening. Mickey really wanted to run because what the fuck did he do to deserve this shit to be thrown at him right now? His feet were planted though as soon as Parker was in front of him, green eyes frantic.

“Don’t run off, please, Mickey. I wanna talk to you.”

“I gotta go, I need to, uh-”

Mickey broke off because it was all going fuzzy. He couldn’t do this, it wasn’t like how it was with Colt, he couldn’t face Parker. It was easy to blast out at Colt but with Parker, he couldn’t do it, he literally could not do it.

“Why are you avoiding me? I haven’t seen you in almost two years, Mickey.”

“I really have somewhere to be, I-”

“Colt said you would do this,” Parker murmured in a hushed voice, “I don’t care about all that shit that happened before, not right now. I just want to talk to you.”

When Mickey continued to shift his eyes, at the parking lot, at the sky, at the people walking far away, Parker inched closer, desperately searching Mickey’s face.

“I’ve known you since we were twelve, Mick. You can pretend you don’t want to see me but I’m not letting you disappear. You’re too important to me.”

Mickey felt himself panicking now so he said nothing and finally, fucking finally, could jerk free from the gravity of this spot and go down the sidewalk, out of the apartment complex. He kept going, the panic fading just a little when Parker didn’t follow.

 

That night, Mickey finally went back to the apartment, glad that he didn’t have work all weekend since he busted his ass so much during the week. He slid in the door, legs cramped from sitting alone at the park, the one behind the apartment, for five hours. When he got inside, he was relieved to see Ian and Mandy on the couch instead of Parker, the two of them in the middle of some word game.

“I called you like six times,” Mandy scolded when he shut the door.

“Where’s uncle Rick?” Mickey asked, not bothering with a greeting.

“You think we broke in?” Ian laughed, “He’s on the balcony smoking.”

Mickey walked towards the hall where the bedrooms were rapidly, missing the looks Ian and Mandy were shooting each other. Mickey knocked politely on his uncle’s door and when there was no answer, he opened it slowly, peeking in.

The glass door that lead out to the balcony was on the other side of his uncle's room. It was shut but he could see his uncle standing out there, smoking, tapping the tip of his shoe to a silent rhythm. Next to him was Parker, smoking his own cigarette, leaning against the stony railing as if that was his uncle and this was his house. When Parker saw Mickey from the other side of the glass, Mickey stormed out and into the living room, ready to leave again.

“Mickey?”

Mickey stopped at the door and turned around when he heard Ian’s voice. Mandy blinked, eyes much harder than Ian’s and he knew the only reason she was keeping cool was because Parker wasn’t her business to spill the beans over.

“You don’t want to stay up all night with us?" Ian smiled and Mickey knew he was holding back from questioning about the unknown kid on the other side of the house. Maybe Mandy did say something, maybe not, either way, Ian looked like he wanted Mickey to stay.

“No way in hell either of you can last even one night, much less three,” Mickey smirked, lowering his hand from the door, slowly walking to the couch and sitting on the arm of it, by Ian.

“We’ll see about that,” Ian tested, pulling a board game out of a dusty box on the table.

“Uh, what the hell is this?”

“Have to keep our brains going. A movie might make us tired,” Ian explained and Mickey shook his head, dragging the box towards himself so he could look in.

“You haven’t even been awake for twenty four hours, man. Are you narcoleptic?”

An alarm beeped off on Ian’s watch and at the same time him and Mandy automatically scribbled down on sheets of papers that were lying on the table. Mickey cocked an eyebrow.

“It’s like watching lab rats.”

There was the sound of a door shutting and Rick came into the room, Parker following suit, awkwardly hovering by the hallway behind the couch, like he didn’t know if he was allowed to come in or not now that Mickey was here.

“Can I talk to you for a second, Mick?” Rick asked, gesturing towards the kitchen and already going in without an answer. Mickey paused, hopping off the arm of the couch to follow him, unable to look at Parker. When he got to the kitchen, his uncle looked tired.

“So, Parker and the guy he’s staying with at his apartment got into a pretty bad fight. Is it okay with you if he stays? I noticed a little tension out there.”

“Then you know my answer,” Mickey mocked.

“Mick, I don’t exactly know what’s going on with you guys but I can’t turn that kid away. I know I wasn’t there enough for you when you were little but when I _was_ there, I remember Parker being there too.”

“Are you kidding me? You’re going to fall for his doe eyes and small voice?”

“Is that not the same kid you came to my house bloody and banged up for? I remember that night, you and Parker rode the bus up here at four in the morning, two thirteen year old kids, both of you bruised and beaten.”

“What’s your point?” Mickey growled, really getting angry now. His uncle didn’t have a right to tell him anything about his relationship to Parker.

“Two North Side kids,” Rick continued, “from shitty families, always having each other’s back. I never saw buddies as close as you two. Clearly something happened with you guys but can you really tell him to go sleep in a bush for the night?”

“Rick, you don’t know shit,” Mickey spat. When he saw his uncle recoil from that and lean on the counter, he felt guilty. His uncle couldn’t help that he didn’t know anything, still, Mickey didn't like feeling pressured to explain himself or a situation to someone who wasn’t there and didn’t understand, never would understand.

“He can stay but don’t expect us to start playing house,” Mickey sneered, fleeing back to the living room, finding Parker still awkwardly standing at the hallway entrance. He was in conversation with Ian and Mandy though, looking nervous and happy talking to them.

“If my roommate tried to throw me out, I would light his curtains on fire,” Mandy declared to Parker who smiled slightly. When Mickey hopped over the couch to cushion himself between Ian and Mandy, anything to make sure he definitely wouldn’t be near Parker, Mandy moved over in annoyance.

“He’s usually pretty nice but he has kind of a temper,” Parker shrugged. Mickey was digging his nails into his own pants leg, his foot shaking up and down anxiously. He felt pressure on his shoe and glanced over, seeing Ian’s palm on it, holding it in place. Ian looked at him, worried, wondering, but Mickey had nothing to give him.

“Where the fuck is everyone sleeping?” Mickey snapped.

“I can stay?” Parker piped up, sounding so excited that Mickey had to prevent himself from burying his face in his hands.

“We’re _not_ sleeping, remember?” Mandy snorted, hitting Mickey across the back of the head. Mickey gritted his teeth and ran his hands through his hair.

“You guys aren’t sleeping?” Parker inquired timidly and it pissed Mickey off so much, that unsure voice, the way he carried himself which was by not carrying himself at all, how he was so shriveled at the door, it was unbearable.

“Hey, Mickey, I’m gonna go stay with Elena tonight and Lucas isn’t coming home so you guys have the apartment,” Rick mentioned, entering with a bag over his shoulder. “There’s food in the kitchen and I left money on the counter if you want to order pizza.”

Mandy and Ian were waving bye to Rick and Parker bowed his head as he passed by, which made Rick smile and ruffle his hair before swinging open the apartment door to leave. Mickey hopped over the couch and went into the hall after him, closing the door so they wouldn't be heard.

“Rick, you can’t just dump this shit on me,” Mickey shot. It wasn't until this moment that he felt so angry at his uncle, so betrayed. Rick turned around, appearing more tired than normal, less carefree, like something heavy was weighing him down tonight.

“Parker’s roommate threatened to slice his throat open this morning because Parker took too long to get out of the shower," Rick informed gravely.

Mickey’s voice sucked up out of his throat and Rick rubbed an unsteady hand over his face.

“Mickey, after knowing what you and Mandy went through, I’m not sending that kid back there.”

“It’s not for you to decide,” Mickey croaked, turning back to the apartment to hide his face. “It’s not our problem.”

“I’m sorry, Mickey, but if I thought that way months ago, decided not to make you my problem, I wouldn’t have gotten to known a great kid. Letting you stay with me was one of the best decisions I’ve ever made and as long as Parker wants to stay here, I can’t tell him no, not after what he told me.”

“Do what you want,” Mickey said and he could feel his uncle reaching out for him but he went back inside, going straight to Lucas’ bedroom, closing the door and leaning against it.

The painful sobs that wanted to come out were shaking him but he kept himself silent, sat down on the floor, curled up, buried his head in his knees. His ribs were cracking under the pressure of staying quiet and his head was throbbing because he wasn’t getting the air he needed, too focused on not letting himself go.

When the bedroom door opened and closed, he cursed himself for not locking it.

“Get the fuck away from me right now, Parker, please,” he begged against his knee because if he could just be by himself for a minute, he could get over the emotional tornado convulsing through his body. Gentle arms wrapped around his shoulders and Mickey shook when he felt them, raising his head in disbelief.

“You don’t have to explain anything,” Ian said softly, huddling closer, his hold loose and tender.

Mickey stared at him, shaken up, angry at himself over what uncle Rick told him about Parker, too much coming back since the moment he saw him sitting in the kitchen.

“It’s not what you think,” Mickey whispered, unable to use a regular speaking voice at this point, because he could see there was hurt in Ian’s own eyes.

“It doesn’t matter what I think, I’m not assuming anything,” Ian promised, pulling Mickey closer against himself. “Whoever that guy is, for whatever reason him being here makes you like this, isn’t as important as cheering you up, right?”

“I have anger issues,” Mickey blurted, like that really explained all the shit that was happening right now. His head was pounding so badly, he thought his vision was going double, and he felt so weak from all the pain jolting through him that he leaned into Ian and closed his eyes, breathed in the scent of summer, the only way he could describe Ian’s scent.

He was glad when Ian didn’t say _don’t worry about it_ or _that’s okay, it will get better_ or _you’re going to have to elaborate_ and instead, just held Mickey and that was it. He didn’t ask him anything or demand any answers, he just tried to use his presence to alleviate whatever Mickey was going through.

“Don’t you get tired of this?” Mickey asked into his shirt, eyes almost closing.

“It’s not like I get to hug you everyday,” Ian joked lightly, brushing his fingers over Mickey’s back and arms.

“I mean, don’t you get tired of trying to make sure I don’t go off the wall? Doesn’t it get fucking exhausting?”

“First of all,” Ian replied quickly, “If I was exhausted, you would be hearing snoring right now and secondly, I wish you would let me - you know - take care of you more, honestly.”

Milckey couldn’t hold it back and almost whimpered, having to press his face to Ian’s shirt to quiet down, and felt Ian tighten his hold. He wanted to tell Ian he was a good person, the best fucking person he ever met, a person that everyone needed, but nothing came out.

“I would say it’s okay but I know it’s not,” Ian soothed, “so, just, tell me when you want me to go or what I should do for you, Mickey. I’ll do whatever you need.”

Mickey hugged Ian back, around his neck, and shook his head, trying to convey all the shit trapped inside.

“I wanna say it,” Mickey broke out, “but I can’t.”

“Okay,” Ian assured sweetly, “I’m still here when you can.”

Mickey was sore, his head splitting, but he just held onto Ian and inhaled. Ian made a small sound, like a hum, and then chuckled.

“Lip smashed up a bunch of cars with a baseball bat once."

Mickey breathed into Ian’s clothes and could feel Ian smiling about what he just told him, as if what he said was should be a joke but he was dead serious.

“My younger sister, Debs, she tried to drown a girl in her class at the pool,” he went on, like he was telling a bedtime story, “and Carl, my littler brother, I think if one day went by that he didn’t beat a kid’s head against a locker or send another to the school nurse, we would have to get him checked at the hospital to make sure he was okay.”

Mickey calmed, strangely, hearing these fucked up tales and then Ian’s hand found Mickey’s hair, his voice light while he continued.

“Oh, yeah, Fiona went to jail because Liam got in her coke stash, that was pretty bad. She was on prohibition for a while but you know, she’s been doing really awesome since. Liam’s was okay too, thank goodness.”

What about these stories were soothing? The way Ian’s voice lulled or how the reason he was telling Mickey started to seep through?

“As you already know, I was an underage prostitute. Those were the days, huh?" Ian nodded nostalgically, it was almost comical. "There was also this time, Junior year I think, I ran away to join the army,” he added at the end. Mickey was quiet for a while and finally realized what Ian was doing. He pulled back and looked into his face, finding Ian _was_ in fact smiling.

“Yeah? What the hell happened with that?”

“I didn’t make the bus because Lip caught me with his social security,” Ian laughed, not even embarrassed about it. “Pretty funny, huh?”

“You moron,” Mickey scoffed, his arms still around Ian’s shoulders, not feeling very upset anymore, “Why the fuck did you try to join the army? Did Lip kick your ass?”

“I was tired of shit at home and school, just wanted to skip town for a while,” Ian answered, shrugging. He smiled at the second question and said, “Lip found me walking down the street, only two blocks from the bus, and when he saw me, he ran across the street, grabbed me by the jacket, and right when I knew he was going to hit me, hugged me so hard, I thought I was going to be crushed.”

“Yeah?” Mickey wondered slowly, understanding Ian’s point fully now.

“Yeah,” Ian echoed, “Then we both cried, very manly like just so you know.”

“Oh, shut the fuck up,” Mickey snorted, unable to stop himself from smiling. Ian shifted and looked into Mickey’s eyes so seriously, like he didn’t want him to miss a beat in what he was about to say, that Mickey swallowed.

“When shit gets rough and people let you down, when you think all you have is you, don’t forget you might be wrong,” Ian stated softly, “Make mistakes, fuck up, hurt people, but make up for doing it, do better next time. It’s better than letting it drive you crazy, right?”

If that wasn’t a string of words Mickey needed to hear ages ago then there was no sun and moon in the sky. A sensation bubbled up in his chest so suddenly that Mickey laughed and fell out of Ian’s hold, his arm draping over his stomach, his other arm going across his forehead.

“Shit, Ian, can you please go into therapy instead of writing?”

“If I do that, you’ll never find out what happens at the end of my story.”

“Okay, never mind,” Mickey said quickly, “Stick with writing.”

Ian laughed and Mickey felt relief as more laughter came out of his throat too.

“Please, tell me,” Mickey pondered, once he could breathe again, “That a single day doesn’t go by where you don’t realize how amazing you are.”

“Is that sarcasm?” Ian asked, suspicious, peering over Mickey’s stretched out form.

“No,” Mickey claimed, gazing up, “Although I am pissed off that you’re like this.”

“Like what?”

“Fucking like-” Mickey thought for a moment, “Like a wise old man mixed with a dog.”

Ian raised his eyebrows, “A dog? Really?”

“Loyal, selfless, comforting,” Mickey listed off, “Brings happiness to everyone around you-”

“I don’t see how this could piss anyone off,” Ian grinned, soaking in the compliments. Mickey sighed.

“You’ll stick to someone, no matter how much they kick you, and that’s what pisses me off,” Mickey interjected swiftly. They looked at each other for a while until Mickey sat up, causing Ian to lean back out of his space.

“Parker knows all about that,” he finished sadly. Ian stared in confusion, trying to dissect what that meant. When Mickey stood up and grabbed the door handle, he jumped up too and touched his arm in reflex.

“That’s up to me, if I stick around,” Ian countered. Mickey looked at him out of the corner of his eye and then turned the door handle.

“Then it’s up to me to make sure you don’t get kicked.”

Ian knew that was another way of Mickey saying that he was no good for Ian and that really stung after what they just talked about.

“Don’t wait up for me, Ian, seriously, because if I snap,” Mickey sighed, “I don’t want you to be standing there when I do.”

“Mickey, what the hell, don’t say that. We've been over this already. You've never lashed out like you keep-”

“Parker’s blind in his right eye,” Mickey said flatly, opening the door and stepping in the hallway. “Guess how it got that way?”

Ian felt like cold water trickled from his head down through his whole body. Mickey watched as the words hit one by one and Ian grew colder and colder. Finally, Ian shook his head childishly, suddenly not wanting to hear more now that Mickey was telling him freely. They could hear chatter and laughter down the hall, from the living room, as Mickey gazed at Ian painfully.

“I've known you for a year, seeing you a few hours a day at the most," Mickey explained, hoping Ian was getting the picture now, "I've known Parker for almost eight and we were together all hours of the day, every day. You get that?"

"Mickey-"

"You’re going to find a safe guy to be with because that shit ain’t happening again,” Mickey decided for the both of them, his eyes almost crying without shedding any real tears.

The world collapsed around Ian, like meteors just crashed through the ceiling, and for the first time, he had no idea what to say, how to make this better, how to even process what he just learned.

Mickey turned away and went to the living room, leaving Ian heartbroken. 


	36. No Going Back

Ian couldn’t sleep even if he wanted to. It had nothing to do with this experiment he had going on with Mandy, it had all to do with her brother, who had been out on the apartment balcony for hours while Mandy, Ian, and Parker played thousands of board games. There was a lingering question floating in the air, all of them wondering about Mickey, but nobody answered it. Finally, Ian couldn’t take it anymore, he knew too much, every time he looked at Parker, he got a flash back of what Mickey said to him twenty hours ago.

Parker was nice, really fucking nice, but knowing what he knew, about Parker’s eye, made it hard to look at him. Whatever the story was, it was ripping Ian apart, piece by piece, and every time Mickey came in, hung out for a few, and then left, it just tore him up more.

Anger issues, fucking anger issues, that’s what Mickey brushed it off as.

Ian thought that entitled yelling, silent treatments, shit like that, not blinding your best friend. What the fuck was he supposed to do knowing that? How the fuck could he fix this?

“Ian, are you okay? Getting really sleepy?” Mandy asked slowly, a little dazed out because neither of them had slept for almost two nights now.

No, Ian wasn’t okay, he was not fucking okay. He stood up shakily and went to the bathroom down the hallway, slamming the door shut. He gripped the sink and choked out to vomit but nothing came, just a burn in his throat and heavy pressure against his stomach.

Everything was so fucked up. Just when he thought things were maybe going to be okay, Mickey dropped a bomb so big that he didn’t think he could snap back so fast this time. Mickey was fucked up, something was wrong with him, something a lot more wrong than he ever imagined. Mickey blinded someone.

Ian shook his head and left the bathroom, racing across uncle Rick’s bedroom to slide open the balcony door, starring Mickey down, furious.

Mickey was sitting on the railing under the moon, not smoking or anything, just sitting there. It was like a painting, something you would paint if you were locked up in a dark room, alone, for years.

“Explain to me, right now,” Ian said angrily, bitter tears already forming at the corner of his eyes. Mickey didn’t even look surprised by his outburst.

“How the hell does someone blind another human being? How the fuck do you-”

He had to stop and cover his mouth because the vomit seemed to be coming up this time. It didn’t though, so he gulped air. When Mickey didn’t say anything, Ian left, and his yelling must have attracted Parker and Mandy because they were standing by the door in the hallway. Ian went by them and ran out of the apartment, holding his pained stomach.

When he got out of the building, he leaned over and grabbed his knees, biting his lip so hard that it pierced the skin and he could taste rust and iron on it. He leaned up, his back aching, and found that Parker kid was standing there, looking at him sympathetically.

“Are you mad at Mickey?” he asked, eyes lowering.

“What?”

“He told you about my eye?”

Ian moved away from this kid and went down the sidewalk, not up for whatever kind of talk was about to happen. He was far too gone in another place right now to be coherent or to listen to anything about Mickey. Fucking Mickey.

“I’m clinically diagnosed with a personality disorder,” Parker continued, ignoring Ian’s silent protesting, catching up to him, “I need to have someone look after me all the time, that’s what my doctor said. I'm really clingy and overly dependent.”

Ian shook his head more violently, wishing he could turn his ears off at this. He was already drowsy and lightheaded from no sleep, he could not take this shit.

“Mickey took up that role since my family didn’t want to, knowing I was mentally ill and all.”

“Please, get away from me,” Ian said tiredly, bitterly, frustrated.

“Mickey didn’t do this to my eye,” Parker settled with, sounding anxious, “He thinks it was his fault but he didn’t do it.”

Ian stopped and looked back, taking Parker back a few steps. He smoothed down his shirt and wouldn’t meet Ian’s eyes.

“Why are you telling me this?” Ian asked sharply but his face softened when he saw how Parker visibly jumped. “

“It’s mostly my fault Mickey’s like he is,” Parker said weakly and Ian could see that this kid had insecure written all over him. “I think I drained him to the last drop, you know? I attach to people and suck their energy out, that’s why they all leave me.”

No way in hell was Ian going to listen to whatever sob story was about to spew out of this kid’s mouth, not tonight. He couldn’t do it, he could not handle it, being the emotional sponge that he was.

“Look, no offense, but I don’t give a shit anymore, okay? I don’t care about your love story with Mickey, alright?”

Parker smiled, eyes glittering, and he finally looked up at Ian.

“I can see why Mickey told you about me now,” he said, “You must really care about him to get this upset.”

How the hell did this kid get that from what Ian just said? When Ian was about to curse him out, Parker cut him off.

“Mickey knows what it’s like to take care of someone screwed up and how draining it is, how much it breaks you apart. Everyone I cling to ends up a mess, Mickey did especially. So, I guess, he just doesn’t want you to end up that way too, since you care about him and all.”

Ian grew furious again, whipping his phone out to text Jake. He had to get the fuck somewhere that wasn’t here and the walk to campus just seemed so long right now.

“I’m telling you this because in all the time I’ve been with Mickey, I’ve never seen him look at anyone the way he looks at you.”

Ian’s fingers froze against the cold metal and glass in his hand. He looked up.

“I’ve only been around you for two days,” Parker insisted, “and I don’t know a lot about you but I know everything about Mickey, what every little flicker of his eyes means, what every little breath he doesn’t make means, every word in between what he says, all of it. Mickey looked happier in the last hour just glancing at you over his book, when we were all playing on the couch, than I remember him being for years.”

“Fucked up sense of getting his kicks,” Ian blasted, gripping his phone tightly.

“Mickey was always violent and aggressive, getting into fights, mostly because of his dad. He was angry all the time but when he got angry at me, he never hit me, he always apologized but I think the fact that he couldn’t control his temper with the fact that I needed him and he couldn’t leave me alone, was a really unstable friendship.”

Ian couldn’t fathom what he was supposed to get from this. He scoffed and bit the inside of his cheek.

“I could never make Mickey happy, not really,” Parker tried again, “He killed himself slowly thinking the same so when I saw how he looked at you, I was-”

“I just don’t care anymore,” Ian responded, shutting Parker up. There was a silence and Ian looked up to make sure he left but instead he saw Mickey standing there, hands pocketed, still wearing that same solemn expression he had on the balcony.

“Hey, Parker, can I talk to Ian for a minute?” Mickey asked, in a bell like voice, one that was foreign to Ian’s ears. It was like a voice you would use with a child.

Parker smiled, like Mickey’s existence itself just turned him to goop.

“We can talk when I get back,” Mickey promised him. Parker nodded and then lowered his head again.

“Are you mad at me?”

“No, I’m not,” Mickey answered, “I swear, I’m not. Go inside and wait for me, alright?”

Parker obliged and went around to go through the apartment entrance, disappearing. Mickey walked forward to cover some of the space between him and Ian but he stopped when there was a couple feet of distance setting them apart.

“This the part where you tell me all the shit that’s wrong with you, all the stuff you did in the past, probably hard core drugs, arson, and a lot of other messed up shit that made you hate everyone?” Ian asked darkly.

“Harsh,” Mickey remarked calmly, “Although you’re spot on about the drugs but no, that’s not what I came to say.”

“What else then? You wanna remind me that I should have expected this from the start? That I keep missing the memo about you being fucked up?”

Mickey shook his head, sliding his shoe over the concrete. Ian came at him again.

“You think because you nursed an ill person for years means you can get away with this shit? My mom has fucking bipolar, think I don’t know what that’s like?”

“Yeah, how’d that work out for your family?” Mickey asked quietly, still sullen, remembering what Ian told him what happened on Thanksgiving.

“She didn’t manage her medicine, she didn’t want help, that’s not the same as someone with a temper,” Ian glowered. Mickey nodded, drinking that in.

“You calling Jake?” he asked, eyes on Ian’s phone.

“Yeah, I am,” Ian said lowly but his fingers weren’t working properly.

“Hey, Ian, can you name one decent thing about me?” Mickey asked suddenly, gazing at the stars now. Ian said nothing so Mickey smiled. “See? Nothing, right?”

When Ian still remained quiet, Mickey took his guitar off his back, taking Ian by slight surprise since he didn’t know it was there in the first place. He set it on the ground and then shoved his hands back into his jacket.

“So there’s this guy, this guy that grocery shops in the middle of the night,” Mickey began, voice soft and even, “I mean, who does that, right? I don’t know about you but I’m not going to go out at South Side in the dead of night just to pick up a loaf of bread."

Ian kept his eyes down on his phone, the temptation to call Jake fading at the softness of Mickey's voice. Mickey inhaled and exhaled.

"But one night, this guy, he almost runs into me and I’m drunk out of my mind, just got bashed up by my dad, and this guy almost runs into me. What the hell am I gonna do? I need to show this guy what he just got himself into because he was asking for a fight, wasn’t he? Yeah, he was asking for it.”

Not a car passed by, not a soul was on the street, it was just the two of them out here as Mickey went on.

“That’s what I thought until this guy said my name, like he knew me. I thought, _what the hell_ , because I practically grew up on the South Side, even if my house was on the North, and nobody had ever run into me and said my name, not like that. So, I looked at this guy, tried to see if it was someone that owed me money because he looked scared of me, he should be, I had a reputation after all, and it took a while for me to figure out it was just some kid that knew my sister.”

Ian was trying his best not to breathe too heavily, not wanting to break the silence when Mickey paused and got ready to continue.

“Then this guy, he was actually carrying his homework around, I’ve never seen a South Side kid do that shit. It had been a while since I was in school but when I saw all the problems on the paper he had, I kind of missed school, just for a second. Not so much the school itself as solving problems, ones that had a definite answer, a right ending every time, I missed doing those. So, I mapped them out in my head, getting that little bit of freedom back, it was the only time I was in control, and guess what happened? This fucking guy got all excited, asked me for help, he wasn’t joking around either. Everyone else called me out on knowing shit so I usually kept it to myself, but this guy told me to solve the rest of the problems, show him how to do it.”

Ian watched as the screen of his phone went dark and listened closely to Mickey’s voice, looking away from the screen to look at him. A nostalgic smile played on Mickey's face, his eyes still up at the stars through his story.

“When I was done doing the problems like he asked, I looked up and this guy became the happiest person in the universe. That kind of happiness, that didn’t happen, not caused by me, never. So, I left, had to get out of there before I ruined that happiness, as I’m notorious for, but just when I was about to be free, some unknown selfishness possessed me, and I asked for this guy’s name. Why did I do that? It’s not like I would ever talk to him again, it was stupid of me. The guy didn’t waste a dime telling me what it was and you know what, I’ve never given a shit about a name, but I pocketed that name in a heartbeat, like it was my treasure, something nobody could take away.”

Ian blinked and his vision blurred from the water building up in his eyes but he was listening too intently to Mickey, zoning out, not even feeling it.

“I kept running into this guy after that,” Mickey sighed, “Like the world kept giving me chances, chances to fuck up that happiness I somehow conjured out of him the first night. Man, that’s pretty shitty of fate to do, give me an actual chance at something good. After what I did to people, I didn’t deserve a fucking chance, not with this guy.”

Mickey pondered about that for a second and went on. He ran a hand through his hair and glanced at the road.

“I couldn’t protect Parker from a lot of shit so after he got a bottle smashed across his face-” Mickey breathed out hardly, now having trouble. “I, uh, I was drunk, we all were, but I was the one who provoked the guy who did it, even though Parker was next to me, I put him in danger because of my anger. Parker got cut over his eye by the glass bottle because of me, lost his vision, and I couldn’t look at him the same. It was selfish but I couldn’t look at him, so I didn’t, I avoided him until he got the hint.”

Mickey straightened up and curled his hands in his pockets, now looking at Ian finally. He was searching Ian for a moment before going on.

“Colt’s the guy who did it, cut Parker over the face, and guess what? Parker forgave him, I couldn’t stand it, I couldn’t-”

Mickey's voice hitched so he crouched down and took a moment to himself. He seemed like he didn’t want to continue that story so he threw his guitar case open and pulled it out.

“I don’t want to make excuses anymore. All that shit with me, that’s on me, that’s my life, there’s no reason for me to put that on anyone else. You’re right, if I’m so angry, I should get help, medicine, something, not that you haven’t helped me more than I can ever repay.”

He plucked a few strings on the guitar and looked up again.

“I don’t know how to talk shit out very well, I’m sorry about that, I don’t know if what I said even made sense or if it just made things worse. I’ll, uh, I’ll let you head out, go meet with Jake, but can I just play for you once before you go, Ian?”

Ian was voiceless and he could say no, still leave, get out of this cycle. Eventually, after a long silence, he put the phone away and crossed the space between them, sitting down on the sidewalk in front of Mickey who quickly grabbed the guitar out, eyes locked on Ian’s.

His fingers were trembling, Ian noticed it, and his chest was rising and falling rapidly, because Mickey was nervous, so nervous it took him a few minutes just to start. The second he flicked his thumb over the first string, the vibration bouncing across the sidewalk, rain poured down on them.

They stared at each other, both getting soaked but not making it a point to do anything about it. The rain drowned out any other noises and Mickey looked at a loss, like the fact that this just happened was a signal to stop all together.

“Got it from my dad anyways,” Mickey spoke over the rain, discarding his guitar aside, like it wasn't so important right now. He was smiling madly, as if he accepted the cruelty of whatever other worldy being was doing this.

“Mickey?” Ian said, not very audibly because the rain was so heavy, drawing his name out, “You didn't blind that kid, right? But you hurt him?"

Mickey stared back at him, the water dripping down his hair and eyes, cheeks and nose, and Ian remembered what Parker said. Mickey was looking at him with everything, heart on his sleeve, giving Ian all the power to do what he wanted, falling into Ian’s eyes, uncontrollably happy just to be sitting here with him.

"Yeah, I hurt him, but I'm going to make up for it," Mickey promised and Ian believed him.

When he thought about it, Ian did get hurt by Mickey, so much, but then, Mickey lived for almost twenty years in a dark, cold place, never touched by enough light, never given the chance to grow or reach out to others. What was that like? To not have a voice or dreams or hope? What was it like to feel anger, sadness, and fear, but that was it?

"I'm selfish, Mickey, always when it comes to you," Ian admitted, trying to talk over the rain. "I'm sorry, you aren't the only one who has to make up for something."

They kept staring and Mickey moved closer, lacing his own hands together, like he wanted to make sure they didn't act on their own. 

“If not hating myself and asking for help is what I have to do,” Mickey tried to say. Ian moved closer so he could hear him. “Then,” Mickey breathed out, eyes fond, “I don’t want you to wait anymore.”

Ian’s heart sank and hot tears threatened his eyes because in the end, looks like Mickey really was too closed off to open up ever again. He didn’t want Ian to wait, he wanted him to move on, it had to be better for both of them at this point.

Ian was glad it was raining once tears trickled down his face, mixing in with the sky water. Mickey’s smile faltered and he reached out to brush one of those tears, how he knew they were there, Ian wasn’t sure.

“I don’t want you to wait because I want to be with you,” Mickey clarified, seeking Ian’s face.

In that one longing gaze, Ian winded down and spurs of memories went across his eyes.

Mickey cheering Ian up after he got bullied at school, Mickey tearing Ian away from selling himself for sex, Mickey letting Ian see his scars and letting him patch them up just because Ian wanted to. Mickey holding him on Christmas, Mickey smiling at him in the park beneath the stars, kissing in the mist of the morning, kissing in the rain, kissing to the sound of fireworks, dancing in the forest, skating on the ice. Mickey holding his hand and not leaving because Ian asked him not to, Mickey constantly fighting battles from his past, present, and future, always blaming himself for every problem, always taking the burden, even as he admired Ian for being the _selfless_ one.

Ian stared and stared, the rain pounding, but the roaring in his ears from the blood rushing to his head was louder.

“I want to be with you too, I want to be with you, Mickey,” he stuttered, tears still falling.

There was only a brief moment where what they both said clicked into place. That's when Mickey leaned forward and kissed Ian with everything, clung onto Ian’s damp clothes, fingers curling against his soaked hair. Ian clung back, tugging Mickey's jacket to hold onto him so he didn't disappear, eyes squeezing shut.

Mickey meant it this time, there was no going back, he was in it for good because Ian was and that’s all that mattered.

 


	37. Thief of Hearts

The fall was finally starting to feel like fall instead of summer because Ian had to double layer today so he could face nature’s windy wrath. He woke Sean up before he left so that he didn’t miss class and then raced to the center of campus.

Mickey was smoking at the edge of the fountain, leaning back dangerously close to falling in the water, and when he saw Ian coming up, he smiled slightly. They said nothing as Ian sat down on the fountain edge and stole the cigarette so he could get a dose of nicotine too. After a few puffs, Ian side eyed Mickey and admired how the wind blew his hair around, how his lips were still perked up just enough to count as a smile.

It had been like this for almost a week, ever since Saturday night when they had their heart to heart in the rain. Things were normal for the most part, not a whole lot was different, except Ian knew that it was because every now and then, they would meet eyes and Ian would grow overwhelmed by exploding emotions. Hopefully, Mickey felt it too and Ian was almost sure Mickey did because of the way he turned his face so he wouldn’t get caught smiling. Ian never missed it though.

“Hey, I have a few errands to run today,” Mickey said, “I can’t make lunch.”

“Errands?” Ian hummed, smoking another hit.

“Gonna go check out Parker’s apartment situation for one thing. My uncle said Parker’s got a little problem, a roommate who wants an early death, and since Parker was afraid to tell me much about it, I’m gonna go check it out with my own eyes.”

Ian rose an eyebrow. When Mickey saw the look, he sighed.

“After what we talked about over the weekend, do you seriously think I’m gonna go fuck that guy up?”

“You’re the one who boasts about being the big bad wolf all the time,” Ian snorted, “You tell me.”

Mickey thought about it for a moment and laughed.

“Okay, I'll think of a way to rip this guy apart without you know, physically tearing him to shreds. Shit, this is going to take a lot of fucking willpower.”

“You do that,” Ian agreed instantly, “Although it would be really attractive to see you throw a few punches at an asshole that deserves it.”

“Then you should have met me years ago,” Mickey said, snatching his cigarette back. "If I beat the shit out of this guy, Parker won't like it."

“I wonder what you would have thought about me when I was younger,” Ian mused. Mickey leaned forward, swiveling his head to peer up at Ian.

“No kidding? What did I miss out on?”

“A train wreck,” Ian chortled. Mickey seemed intrigued to ask more but his cigarette ran dry so he stomped on it and pulled another from his pocket. Before he could light, Ian put a hand on the lighter, gingerly prying it from Mickey’s fingers. Mickey waited, seeing what kind of holy reason Ian had for interrupting his tobacco time.

“Try this one,” Ian advised, revealing another lighter from his jacket.

The lighter was in the shape of a jukebox, slick black and chrome with neon tubing on the top and sides. Ian handed the lighter over to Mickey who took it skeptically, inspecting it. He opened the lid and struck his thumb over the metal, watching as an aqua and green flame sparked from the tip.

“This is bad ass, man,” Mickey admired, watching the watery ripples of color in the fluorescent tubes glow until he let the flame die. He re-lit and the tubes went bright again.

“It’s yours,” Ian shrugged and Mickey’s eyes widened. Ian shifted and fiddled with Mickey’s old lighter in his hand, saying, “I mean, I gave this one back to you before and that’s kind of a fucked up thing to do on your birthday, so. . . “

“Wait, this is mine?” Mickey interjected, flicking the lighter flame another time, fascinated.

“Yep,” Ian nodded, smiling at how Mickey couldn’t stop turning the flame on and off, thumb brushing over the polished tubing.

“Holy shit, my uncle gave me a guitar last night since my other one got water damaged to hell,” Mickey laughed, “and now I get this sick lighter, what the fuck?”

“You got another guitar?” Ian exclaimed. Mickey finally lit his awaiting cigarette and popped the lid on the jukebox lighter shut during Ian’s bafflement.  

“It’s fucking cool,” Mickey went on, glowing, “I should have ruined my dad’s a long time ago, man.”

“Can I come over and see it?” Ian grinned. Mickey blinked at him, twirling his new lighter in his fingers. Even though his face was smug, there were traces of happiness.

“Well, you did just profess your undying affection for me so I guess it would be okay,” Mickey smiled sincerely, holding the lighter up and shaking it for effect. Ian blushed and felt hot all of a sudden but at least the wind kept his face cool.

“Asshole,” he shot, kicking Mickey’s ankle.

“Is that news to you?”

“Not even close,” Ian laughed and Mickey laughed too.

 

The wind was heavy and because the sun hid behind the clouds, the weather was cooling considerably. Mickey jerked his hands into the thick linen of his gray coat and crossed the baseball field, eyes narrowing when he spotted who he was looking for. He walked over the clean lawn and dust covered dugout, coming to a stop at the silver bleachers.

“Get up. You’re coming with me.”

Mickey’s voice cut through the air as he stared at Colt and his crew hanging around under the bleachers. Colt veered around from where he was crouched and then stood up, made eyes at the rest of the boys with him, then put his hands out to Mickey as a welcome.

“Hey, Mick,” Davey greeted brightly, standing up from his perch on the ground. “Where the hell you been?”

“To what do I owe this surprise?” Colt beamed sarcastically.

“Parker’s apartment, let’s go,” Mickey ordered blatantly. “We can have a nice chat on the way.”

“Why don’t you hang out for a min-”

“Talk and walk,” Mickey cut off, already going back the way he came, across the field. Colt looked between his friends in disbelief but went after Mickey nonetheless, without a word.

“There an actual reason you came out here?” Colt called out, trotting after Mickey. Mickey didn’t make a sound until they were farther out, on the edge of the field, closer to one of the roads that left the campus.

“Ever so conversational,” Colt chuckled, stepping out onto the asphalt with Mickey. They were under the canopy of trees after walking to the other side of the street and into a forested area.

“You taking me out here to murder me or what?” Colt wondered mildly, following Mickey down the dirt hill. He glanced around at the pretty tree leaves fluttering in the wind, admiring the serene seclusion of the area, “Nice location to do it.”

“Shortcut,” Mickey explained dully, “But you’re not far off from what I want to do to you.”

“Scary,” Colt smirked, keeping up with Mickey’s short steps.

Mickey turned around then and grabbed Colt’s shirt collar, not very hard, but enough to make him stop in his tracks.

“This isn’t a field trip, bitch. There are only two reasons I’m not beating the shit out of you so count your lucky stars.”

"And what's your reasoning? Because Parker will get upset?" Colt asked, shoulders tense, eyes smiling. 

No way in hell Mickey was going to tell him that he was right and no way in hell was he naming Ian as the second reason. 

“You think you’re so grown,” Colt said, looking down at Mickey, always finding amusement in his small stature. “Think you’re so much better than us.”

“Just better than _you_ ,” Mickey growled, releasing him.

“Oh, yeah? That what you tell yourself? I’m the one who cleaned up after your shit because you couldn’t handle it. You weren’t there to help Parker-”

“Help him? You call shattering glass over his eye help? You motherfucker-”

“I was drunk and apologized, more than you ever did afterwards,” Colt finished, not so cheery now.

Mickey had to turn around and close his eyes, had to breathe so he could maintain his cool. The fury was there, threatening to burst, but without thinking about it, he slid his thumb over the lighter Ian got him in his pocket and that helped alleviate the pressure.

“Come on,” Mickey snapped, stepping over the crumbling Earth under them. Colt crossed his arms and followed.

 

_The streetlamps by the bar were a bleary orange, barely lighting the empty street that night, hardly allowed to be called lights in this fog. The fog seemed to be seeping around the bar, creating a smokescreen outside to match the smokescreen inside._

_The clock ticked well over midnight and the only rustling in the bar were a group of teenagers playing pool._

_“That cue stick is a little too big for you, ain’t it?” Colt smirked when Parker hobbled up to the pool table, worry all over his face._

_“Shut the fuck up so he can concentrate,” Mickey shouted from the bar counter, tapping his knuckles so the bartender would grab him another drink._

_“You runts gotta clear out soon, my dad is already gonna have my ass for letting kids drink this shit,” the young bartender sighed, taking Mickey’s empty glass._

_“Don’t be a pussy,” Mandy slurred from where she was sitting on the floor by the pool table. Her lipstick was smudged from her make out session with Colt ten minutes ago._

_“Maybe grow some balls and stand up to your old man,” Colt suggested, nudging for Parker to hurry and play. Parker steadied the cue stick and squinted, licking his lips._

_“Don’t mess up in front of your boyfriend,” Colt agitated._

_“Mickey, come watch,” Parker said weakly, trying to ignore Colt. Mickey waited for his beer and when the bartender finished pouring, he took it and went to Parker’s side at the pool table, earning him an overly ecstatic smile._

_“Don’t choke,” Colt continued. Mickey shoved him harshly away from the table, giving Parker a light punch on the shoulder for encouragement._

_Parker squinted at the white cue ball and eventually thrust the cue stick out, narrowly missing but still hitting it, breaking straight. Once all the balls settled, one eased into a pocket and Parker ran to the other side of the table to pull it out._

_“Solid,” he stated happily, showing the red apple billiard ball._

_“For a solid job,” Mickey congratulated and then glanced at Colt, “Go ahead, stripes bitch.”_

_Colt positioned himself, having a hard time because he was already seven beers in, and pulled his arms back to steady the cue stick. He closed one eye and everyone watched him make his stroke. He hit the cue ball at an angle and the billiards scattered. When one solid fell into a pocket, Mickey stifled a laugh._

_“Such talent,” he snorted, watching Parker go to retrieve his solid ball._

_“He’s the only sober one, he’s cheating,” Colt glared._

_“Actually, I think you’re cheating. You’re doing better than when you’re sober.”_

_“Shut up, Mickey, or I’ll be using you as the cue stick next.”_

_“And you still wouldn't hit stripes,” Mickey laughed, not moving when Colt bucked at him._

_Mandy was almost dozing off from the floor, tangling her hands weakly through her long hair, yawning. Colt looked back at her and then stepped aside so Parker could take his turn._

_“The next one’s for you, baby,” Colt said, smacking his lips. Mickey leered, hating the fact his sister was actually getting it in with this douche._

_“Mickey, watch,” Parker urged, causing Mickey to tear his eyes from Mandy to see him go. Parker hit the cue ball and the billiards flew around the green table, two solids falling into the pockets. He turned to Mickey instantly and they bumped their fists._

_“Move,” Colt snapped, pushing Parker out of the way. Mickey shoved Colt on instinct._

_“Wanna keep those fucking hands? Better keep them to yourself.”_

_“Get your pup,” Colt said to Parker, leaning down on the pool table so he could make his shot. When he hit, he pocketed a stripe and a solid._

_“Are you fucking kidding me?” he yelled and Mickey laughed even louder this time. Parker said nothing and went around the table to grab all his billiards and then angled his stick over his hand. As he hovered over the table, placing his fingertips flat, Colt looked at Mickey._

_“Whether he wins or not, I’ll still be fucking your sister tonight.”_

_Mickey stopped laughing on the spot._

_“Shut the fuck up. Mandy’s going home with me, she can barely stand.”_

_“Makes it easier to fuck her,” Colt smirked. Mickey flew forward and threw his fist so hard across Colt’s face there was an ugly pop._

_“Fuck!” Colt shouted, grabbing his jaw, reaching out to hit Mickey back but Mickey dodged, falling into Parker._

_“Stop, you guys,” Parker tried quietly, hands going to Mickey’s arm. Mickey flinched back and when he turned around, Colt was tackling him to the ground, throwing Parker out of the way. Mickey slipped free from the grapple and kicked Colt in the stomach as hard as he could, taking the breath out of Colt's lungs evidently because he was stunned for a good minute._

_“Mickey, stop!” Parker shouted frantically, getting between them._

_“Try to rape my sister and your fucking done!” Mickey boomed._

_“Who needs to do that when the slut puts out so willingly?” Colt sneered, standing without much balance. Mickey ran around Parker and slammed Colt back, pinning him to the pool table, smashing his fist into his mouth and nose. When there was blood, Parker looked horrified, unsure of what to do._

_“Get the fuck out of here,” the bartender grumbled, coming around the counter so he could pull them apart. Parker stepped in to help but Colt shot forward and clipped Mickey across the cheek in a quick movement._

_Mickey spat blood out on the floor and rushed at him again as Colt stumbled to the side and into the bar counter, finding Mickey’s forgotten glass. In a blur, he stumbled forward and flung his arm out with as much force as he could. The sound of the glass shattering and Parker’s gasp echoed along with Mickey and Colt’s panting. When it registered to everyone what happened, Mickey froze, eyes zoning in on the blood dripping from Parker’s eyelid, down his face and neck._

_He didn’t know time could literally stop but it was happening, it was slowing down until the motions of Colt trying to stand, the voice of the bartender calling the cops, Parker falling to the ground convulsing, all of it-_

_It all seemed to go silent._

 

“Do you even want to know what the fuck we’ve been up to for a year? Why Parker moved up here?”

Mickey kept walking, growing angrier at Colt’s provoking from behind him. They finally cleared the woods that lead into the park behind Parker’s apartment complex and Mickey sighed in relief. Colt talked for the entire twenty minute walk, his mouth muscles never getting tired.

“Parker, as you know, isn't going to the college. He met this guy and they started fucking and now he lives with him. I tried to tell him not to come here but you know Parker, always gotta have somebody to take care of his ass.”

“Thought you said that’s what you did when I left,” Mickey grumbled, stopping as soon as they got to the back lot of the apartments.

“Yeah, of course I did, you know I did,” Colt answered honestly, “I love that kid. Parker’s my brother, man, you know that.”

“Fuck you,” Mickey said and suddenly Colt grabbed him roughly from behind. Mickey jerked free, looking at him dangerously.

“You don’t want to make that mistake.”

“I know that I really fucked things up but I tried to pay that kid back every second after you left,” Colt breathed out desperately, “You think I liked knowing I was the one who did that shit? You really think I don’t give a rat's ass that I did that to him? Don’t tell me to fuck off, Mickey.”

Mickey looked away, side of his face twitching.

“How the hell did Parker end up in this situation then? Tell me that.”

“I stopped doing hard drugs, Mick, I stopped for this kid so I could clean myself the fuck up, like you were doing. You know how Parker is, man, he’s always putting himself down and needing validation - fuck! I don’t know how you dealt with it, it was so fucking hard to watch over this kid all the time, especially while I was getting my own life together. I did what I could.”

“That so?” Mickey laughed, empty and bitter.

“He wanted you, Mickey, nobody else,” Colt kept on, “That’s why he got more and more in the slums. He tried to kill himself for fuck’s sake!”

Mickey stared in silence, heart rate slowing. Colt wiped the back of his knuckles across his mouth and went on.

“When I got into this college, I met up with Lucas and he told me you were staying with your uncle. Parker overheard and followed me up here, moved in with this fucking guy. I don’t know much about that story, I had shit to deal with myself, my own problems.”

“You’re just a goddamn hero ‘till the end, ain’tcha?” Mickey asked, going across the parking lot until they reached the back entrance of the apartments.

“Which one's Parker's?”

“Upstairs,” Colt responded, climbing up the staircase after Mickey. “He’s 232.”

When they reached the top, Mickey glanced at Colt before knocking on the door

“I’m never going to forgive you for what you did, got that? It doesn’t matter what you say or do.”

“I got it,” Colt said wearily.

“Really got it?” Mickey asked, folding his hands in front of his waist, eyes on the door.

“Yeah, I really do get it.”

The door swung open and Parker was standing there, his hair wild, dark splotches beneath his eyes. The sad look on his face quickly perked up when he saw them.

“Hey,” Parker beamed, “What are you guys doing here?”

He looked shyly at Mickey who just smiled and went inside, going straight back to the living room, sweeping his eyes over the place. After a few seconds of monitoring, he turned around.

“Hey, Park, you got some alcohol? I’m fucking thirsty,” Colt exhaled, peeling his jacket off as Parker shut the door.

“Gavon doesn’t like people going in his stash,” Parker shrugged, “Sorry.”

“Gavon can suck my nut,” Colt chortled, “Where’s his booze?”

“No, I don’t think-”

“Where’s Gavon at?” Mickey interrupted, strangely more pleasant than minutes ago. Colt gave him the up and down while Parker flushed.

“He’s with his friends downtown somewhere.”

“Cool. I’m guessing he’s not drinking and driving, huh? A friend picked him up?” Mickey pondered, walking in a circle around the apartment.

Parker exchanged a look with Colt and seemed at a loss of how to respond. Mickey clapped his hands together, scarily happy.

“Come by my house in like three hours. I got shit to do until then but bring all your stuff, plan to crash for the rest of the week.”

“Really?” Parker squeaked, no questions asked. Mickey nodded.

“Yeah, I'll be there in a few. I gotta go,” Mickey bounced, walking out the front door again, confusing Parker and Colt both.

“Get the alcohol,” Mickey shouted from outside. Colt quickly forgot about his suspicion and immediately raided the fridge against Parker’s protests. When he said bye and ran outside with the expensive liquor, Mickey was already halfway down the stairs.

“You still know that car dealer?” Mickey asked suddenly, stopping at the parking lot to wait for him to catch up. Colt readjusted the bottles in his arms and glanced around for cops.

“Sure, he’s still working in South Side. What do you want with him?”

“Put that shit in the back, you need to be sober to go ninety an hour,” Mickey informed and a beep from a few cars down sounded out. Colt stared at Mickey and then looked down at the set of car keys in his hand, mouth falling open.

“Mick, is that-”

“Good thing this dumb fucker left his keys, trusts Parker a little too much, don’t ya think?”

“Let’s get this to the shop!” Colt hollered, sprinting to the gorgeous Porsche on the lot, the one with the lit up headlights. “This shit is in pristine condition, must be worth more than my fucking house.”

“A potato is worth more than your fucking house,” Mickey snorted, sliding into the passenger seat of their new ride. “Drive, bitch, you were always better at grand theft auto.”

“I heard that,” Colt smirked, tossing their booze in the trunk and jumping into the front. Mickey handed over the keys, looking up, pausing. Colt hesitated, met his eyes back.

“Prove that I can trust you,” Mickey snapped, uncurling his fingers from around the keys.

“If selling this abusive piece of shit frat boy’s car is a way to earn your trust, Mick, we’ll be there before you can blink.”

Mickey dropped the keys in his hand and Colt revved up the engine, pulling it out onto the road, smiling from the adrenaline rush the whole drive across Chicago to South Side.

 

 

 

_Change of plans, have shit to take care of, sorry_

Ian stared down at the text sent from Mickey two minutes ago. He frowned, disappointed, because he was hoping to finally get some alone time with Mickey after the mutual confession thing. Looks like it would have to wait longer.

He rolled back over into his pillow, at least wanting to catch up on some missed sleep if nothing else.

After drifting out, his phone chimed again and Ian rubbed his eyes, slowly figuring out that he was still in his dorm. He must have fallen asleep on accident because Sean was back in the room, out cold on the floor instead of his bed, still clothed, the smell of beer potent from his side.

Ian unlocked the phone screen, finding that he napped for four hours and it was almost midnight. He checked the new notification. It was another message from Mickey.

 

_Fountain_

 

Ian stared, trying to figure out if this was a code word until he realized what it meant. Jumping up, Ian wasn’t able to get his coat and shoes on fast enough as he stumbled out the door.

 

Ian found Mickey easily, even in the dark, because the school fountain had white lights under the water at night that stayed on until morning, creating what was like a North Star to the college kids.

The rippling light cast pretty shadows across Mickey’s skin from where he sat, his head hovering over the fountain, looking down into it. Ian swallowed and jogged up to him, sitting down on the stone edge, peering in with Mickey.

“Reminds me of my house,” Mickey broke out. “Except this fountain's decent, not all gaudy as fuck with a winged lion statue.”

“I kinda liked it,” Ian laughed.

“That’s because you like fancy shit.”

“So? Got a problem with that? I like nice things,” Ian reminded lowly.

Mickey turned his head and smirked, putting something into Ian’s hand.

“Ask and it shall appear,” he declared while Ian admired the huge wad of cash in his hand.

“What the hell is all this, Mickey? Did you rob a bank?”

“Worry less about the method and more about how you’re going to spend it,” Mickey countered, distracting Ian by flicking his guitar case that was laying out on the brick open. After staring for a moment in anticipation, Ian quickly got back to the money.

“No, wait, what is this?”

“Be proud,” Mickey laughed, “I’m using non-aggressive, _violence free_ measures to take out the dick that’s been beating Parker. He gets what he gets.”

“Are you actually going to elaborate?”

“You grew up in South Side and never stole a car? You never went to a car dealer and sold it? The best part is that I didn’t even have to hot wire it.”

“Okay, makes sense now,” Ian sighed, going through the cash. “Holy shit, there’s like five grand here. How much did you get, you thief?”

“Your cut is hardly anything," Mickey said honestly, "That rich kid's car was worth more than fourteen South Side scrap and metal. I’m giving most of the money to uncle Rick so I can convince him to let Parker stay with us for a while, not much convincing needed though. Parker's at Rick's right now in case this fucker shows up tonight and wants a punching bag when he figures out his car was stolen.”

Ian couldn’t help but smile because there was something charming about Mickey protecting his friend and going out of his way to be smart about it.

“You know, you think you’re so tough but the more I get to know you, the more I think otherwise,” Ian admitted, shoving the wad of money into his coat. “Softie.”

“Fuck off,” Mickey muttered, splashing some of the fountain water at Ian, landing a few drops against his hooded windbreaker. Ian flapped his jacket, showing Mickey how the water slid right off.

“I can if you want, go back to my room, get some shut eye like I was doing before you woke-”

“Quiet,” Mickey demanded, picking his guitar up out of the case.

The guitar wasn’t as shiny as his last guitar, not as expensive looking, but it was so much more fitting for Mickey. The wood was dark in the center and faded into complete black on the edges, the shape more towards an electric even though it was still acoustic, not as clunky as the last one.

“I don’t sing,” Mickey stated, scanning for onlookers. The campus was a ghost town except the few people that passed every ten minutes.

“Neither do I,” Ian joked and Mickey chuckled, plucking a few strings idly. He visibly relaxed after taking a quick look at Ian’s face and then plucked a couple more strings, fingers switching like it was second nature.

Then Mickey just started playing, eyes shut, fingertips moving slowly over the strings. It was like he was barely touching them and yet that couldn’t be true because the sound was so vibrant, resounding over the brick and stone around them. Ian watched how his left hand moved up and down the guitar neck, shifting higher for a few notes and then lower again, playing soft enough for only Ian to hear.

Mickey’s touch on the guitar stayed feathery for a while until he seemed to get bored with the pace and picked it up, flicking the strings a bit harder, strumming and adding notes that seemed improvised in between. The sound faded darker, beautifully so, as Mickey moved his hand on the neck back and forth smoothly. Ian couldn’t follow how his subtle and quick movements could create such an intense, captivating sound, leaving Ian winded.

Mickey hit chords, then strings of notes that blended into one another, and he would trickle his fingers over the hollow of the guitar with his right hand, adding in a few lighter notes. Then he would slide his left hand up over the steel and the note would go from low to high, turning the tune sweeter.

Ian could feel his chest tightening as the music cascaded from heavy to light, charming to emotional, and Mickey was amazing at setting the speed during the song, keeping haste and also pausing for effect perfectly. Some parts of his playing were like a thunderstorm, rumbling through Ian’s chest, shaking him, and then other parts were like swimming underwater because Ian would lose track of the space around them, unravel himself in a deep calm.

Mickey lightly touched a few more high notes, slowly descending the scale, flicking his wrist to strum twice, and then he stopped, eyes finally opening. As confident as he seemed playing, that was almost lost now while he looked at Ian, blush creeping up.

Before Ian could even begin to describe how amazing and moving his performance was, Mickey spoke in a soft voice.

“Wanna go to Miami with me?”

The fountain light fell on Mickey, illuminating him. He looked almost surprised at himself, like he didn’t even know what he said until it came out. Ian’s fingers curled up on the cold stone and the sound of the bubbling water by his ear brought him back to life.

“To see your mom?” he stammered, still catching up from the musical journey Mickey put him through.

“We could stop by if you want to meet her,” Mickey offered, shutting his guitar in it's case, “But I, ah - I kinda just wanted to go away for a bit.”

He paused and blinked, hand going to his hair nervously, and then he finally found Ian’s eyes again.

“With you.”

A few girls walked by, looking at the two of them, but they went unnoticed while Mickey quickly broke the eye contact. Ian was stunned for a while, Mickey's music still pulsing through him, but when Mickey's words joined that music, he gained his courage and grabbed Mickey’s hand, smiling gently.

“Whenever you want, yeah, let's go.”

Mickey blushed again and lowered his head. Ian would never stop finding that adorable.

“Okay,” he replied, tangling his fingers with Ian’s.

Ian brushed them back, feeling the tips of bone and flesh that played such heart-stopping music and turned so many pages of stories. They were rough from imprints of the guitar strings but felt so fragile.

“You’re beautiful, Mickey,” Ian murmured, unable to stop it from slipping out. Mickey looked up at him, pupils dilating and removed his hands, embarrassed. Before Ian knew what happened, Mickey pushed him childishly and Ian fell back into the fountain, arms flailing out.

It was shallow so the fall was short and Ian sat up, his upper body out of the water. He shook his head on purpose, drenching Mickey.

“Ay,” Mickey chuckled, “You really are a dog, like I said.”

Ian didn’t give him time to tease more because he threw his arms around Mickey's waist and dragged him in.

"Goddammit," Mickey breathed out as Ian pinned him up against the side of the fountain.

"Told you I would get revenge for before," Ian laughed, mentioning their former wrestling match. Mickey darted his eyes between his own and smiled. 

Wanting to feel that smile, Ian pressed his lips against Mickey's, adding just a little pressure, loosening his hold on him. When he pulled back, Mickey ducked his head shyly and grinned.

Quickly, they resumed their fight, wrestled and splashed each other, not thinking about how crazy they looked or how cold they were going to be later going home because right now they were too happy to care.


	38. You Deserve Everything

It was just one week left until Thanksgiving break and Ian could hardly wait. Mickey already bought plane tickets to leave for Florida this upcoming Saturday. Ian just had to get through this painful week of cramming before break and he would be  _more_ than okay.

When Ian walked outside of the dorm for breakfast, he paused, wondering if he was still half asleep because his brother was sitting on the side trail by the dorm, catching his eye.

“I would have called,” Lip said, a cigarette in his fingers, “But, ah, my phone kind of got smashed up.”

“The fuck you doin’ here?” Ian chuckled, joining Lip on the trail gravel. “College break don't start for a week.”

“I can’t visit my little brother?” Lip asked, passing his cigarette to Ian.

“Your usual visits mean bad news,” Ian snorted, dragging on the smoke.

“So, does that mean you’re cool with me staying in your dorm tonight?” Lip wondered, getting to the point. Ian handed the cigarette back over

“Yeah, of course. Just let me know if I need to watch out for feds.”

“Nope, only one psychotic blonde,” Lip exhaled, kicking some of the pebbles with his boot.

“You got a girlfriend?”

“Not even close.”

Ian laughed and they fell into random conversation about their separate schools and their siblings at home. When the cigarette burnt out, Lip stood up.

“Wanna grab food or something? You got class?”

“In like an hour. I was on my way to breakfast,” Ian shrugged, also standing. Lip nodded and they fell into step, talking on the way to the cafeteria.

“This bitch threw my stuff at the wall like she was playing frisbee,” Lip grumbled, gesturing lazily with his hands. “I don’t get why she went off the wall because I didn’t want to meet her fucking parents.”

“Maybe it’s because she actually wants to go out with you,” Ian snorted, “And you’re a dick.”

“Real funny,” Lip replied, “I’m not looking for a future wife.”

“You let Karen fuck you up,” Ian reminded, moving so a group of girls could get by on the sidewalk. When he noticed Lip didn’t swerve out of their way, he sighed. “Maybe you could work on your gentleman etiquette too.”

“Meet the parents and suddenly there’s a baby and a wedding,” Lip noted, turning his head around the campus before looking straight again. “How’s Mandy?”

“She’s finally breaking free from fuck boys like you,” Ian informed, narrowing his eyes at his brother. He started to smile when he noticed Lip’s face fall.

“She’s actually giving time to one of these pompous assholes?” 

“The guy’s been pretty damn good to her from what I can tell.”

Before they could continue their conversation, there Mandy was, sitting near the clock tower in Ben’s lap.

“Real cute,” Lip muttered sarcastically, hastily lighting another cigarette. Ian watched the way his clouded eyes flickered to Mandy, almost wistful.

“Mandy, you want breakfast?” Ian called out over the crowd of people passing by. When Mandy saw Ian, she hopped off of Ben and darted in for a hug. As she let go of him, her eyes fell on Lip and they stared at each other without saying anything.

“I’m starting to think you’re dating Ian, Mandy,” Ben smiled, coming up. Ian could feel the judgement radiating from Lip as he swept his eyes over Ben's polo and khakis. 

“I guess we’re not very sneaky,” Ian joked, nudging Mandy playfully, but she didn’t seem to pay him any attention.

“Hope the food here isn’t as shit as the food at my school,” Lip grunted, blowing smoke out, making his way to the cafeteria.

“Wanna come with us?” Ian asked Mandy and Ben, backing up to go after Lip.

“Maybe later,” Mandy answered and Ian didn’t miss the way her eyes stayed on Lip’s retreating figure until Ben put his arm around her waist and veered them in the opposite direction.

 

Mickey woke up on the couch in a haze, reaching out in the dark for no real reason. His heart rate was through the roof so he figured he must have woken up from another bad dream, with how clammy his palms were. He sat up, glad he couldn’t remember whatever made him feel like this, and practically jumped out of his skin when he saw someone standing in the dark room.

“Sorry,” Parker murmured quickly, “You screamed so I was just-”

“It’s fine,” Mickey huffed out, rubbing his eyes. When he felt himself calming, he cleared his throat. “You can go back to bed, I’m good here, it’s cool.”

“You sure?” Parker worried.

“Yeah,” Mickey said heavily, “But if you want, you could get me some fucking water.”

Parker lit up and turned around until Mickey reached out and grabbed his arm.

“That’s the part where you say ‘get your own fucking water, Mick’,” he commented, letting go. Parker bowed his head shamefully and Mickey puffed out more air.

“I told you about standing up for yourself, man,” Mickey said, rubbing his hands over his knees, “You know, I'm constantly five seconds from putting your roommate six feet under. I keep thinking about doing it, walking to your place and shoving a pillow over his head until he can’t move.”

Parker looked even more concerned now, like he didn't understand how that was helpful, and clutched the hem of his shirt nervously.

“But I’m trying not to live out those fantasies,” Mickey grunted tiredly. He leaned back into the couch and closed his eyes. “Try it out. Whenever you think somebody wants something from you, say ‘fuck it’ and convince yourself that you don’t have to do anything to please anybody. Whether you go get a glass of water for me or not won’t change how I see you, man.”

“How do you see me?” Parker asked in a small voice. He raised his head, encouraged.

“Go back to sleep,” Mickey disclosed, turning into the couch, pressing his face against the small pillow in the corner.

“Can I stay here and sleep?” Parker whispered urgently.

“You know you can’t do that, go back to Lucas’ room.”

“What if Lucas doesn’t like me sleeping in his bed?” Parker murmured.

“Who gives a shit? He’s practically already moved in with his girlfriend.”

“I want to stay in here with you, Mickey.”

“Do I have to drag you to your room? Are you five?” Mickey shot, being purposefully assertive. The best way to help Parker’s anxiety was by challenging it.

“No,” Parker answered slowly, standing back up, “I’ll go if you want me to.”

“Not because I want you to, because you need to,” Mickey debated, shifting until he was comfortable, sinking more into the cushions. Parker said nothing for a while and then left.

 

On Wednesday, Lip came for another visit. He spotted Ian and Mandy eating outside together and when he sat down across from Mandy, she averted her eyes.

“I’m going to Miami with you and Mickey, you know,” Mandy told Ian suddenly, gnawing on her taco.

“I thought you didn’t want to,” Ian replied, finishing off his own taco, giving his other one to Lip who gratefully started biting into it.

“You’re going to Miami?” Lip piped in over the food, “How the hell did you pull that off?”

“Mickey came into a lot of cash recently, sold this guy’s car. I already sent most of what he gave me to Fiona for bills.”

“What guy?” Mandy and Lip asked simultaneously. They met eyes and Mandy smiled a little.

“Some asshole that’s been hitting his friend,” Ian shrugged.

"Jesus," Lip said, swallowing. After a few minutes of quiet, he changed topics. “Fiona called before my phone got fucked up. She wants us to visit over the break.”

“Plane leaves Saturday but I can crash at home Friday night,” Ian approved, crumbling his paper waste.

“I think she’s settling down with some guy at the diner, sounds pretty serious about him.”

“Good,” Ian nodded, “Maybe being a Ghallager isn’t such a curse after all and we can actually have normal lives.”

“Don’t hold your breath on that,” Lip snorted, swallowing the last bite of his taco.

When the three of them were done eating, Ian grabbed his backpack and slung it over his shoulder.

“I got class. Are we still on for that rave, Mandy?”

“When have I ever called off a date with you?” Mandy defended, trashing her wadded up napkins.

“Lip, you wanna come?” Ian offered, eyeing Mandy’s reaction. She looked at him a little too eagerly.

“Got fuck better to do, I guess,” Lip drawled, scanning the campus bleakly.

“Walk Mandy to class, will ya? Those assholes always catcall her,” Ian requested, pointing out a flock of boys loitering close by. “I’m heading this way so I’ll see you guys tonight.”

Lip appeared as if he might object but one look at Mandy and he simply pocketed his hands, going to her side.

“Ian knows I can take care of myself against these guys,” Mandy told him, “You know that, right?”

“Yeah, I know,” Lip responded, smirking over the cigarette he put to his mouth.

 

Mickey was dead on his feet after closing up the Pharmacy that night and the only thing stopping him from passing out on the sidewalk was the risk of some college kid thinking it would be funny to take a whiz on a passed out guy. He stumbled his way home, barely registering how fast the week was passing much less the walk back to the apartment. When his phone rang, he checked the number, ready to shut the fucking thing off completely, until he saw Ian’s face.

“Who the fuck is this?” Mickey asked lightly, picking up. He smiled when Ian paused and after a few seconds replied.

“Your fucking _boyfriend_ ,” Ian answered. Mickey could hear that he was smiling too.

“You have zero filter,” Mickey said back for lack of anything better.

“I thought you liked to cut bullshit. Although, I remember you being the one to call me your boyfriend first, in front of other people too.”

Mickey flushed and crossed the desolate street, hand hardening on the phone. It was weird, hearing Ian’s voice on the other end, knowing that this thing with them was real. 

“Did you call to talk our feelings out, man?” Mickey inquired, trying to sound teasing but the thumping in his chest was betraying him.

“I’m about to head to this rave with Mandy and Lip-” Ian breathed out, quieting before he spoke again, “But talking to you is sounding a lot better right now.”

Mickey stopped on the sidewalk, looked at a Camaro going eighty and once the headlights disappeared down the street, he inhaled.

“What's up?” he asked, picking up on the drop in Ian’s voice. Ian wasn’t saying anything so Mickey rubbed his hand over his face and bit his lower lip. “Ian?”

“Nothing,” Ian replied softly, “Mandy’s here, I gotta go. You wanna come out tonight?”

“I need to crash,” Mickey responded, still thinking about how faint Ian’s voice sounded. “You sure you’re good?”

“Looking forward to the break, that’s for sure,” Ian laughed and then there was noise behind him.

“Is Mandy banging your fucking brother again?” Mickey asked just so Ian wouldn’t get off yet.

“Ah, no, she’s dating Ben, remember?”

“So?” Mickey shrugged, making his way down the street again. “That don’t matter, does it?”

“Bye, Mick,” Ian chuckled, other voices shouting in the background.

“You sure you’re fine?” Mickey tried again but it was too late because the phone went dead.

 

“Are you and Mickey fucking?”

Ian coughed on his alcoholic punch, eyes flying up to Mandy who had her hands on her hips, expression demanding. There was glowing paint smeared on her face, making it hard to take her seriously. Ian sipped on more punch, enjoying how she scoffed.

“Don’t act like fucking Lip,” she warned.

“Are you banging Lip?” Ian echoed, surfing the crowd with his eyes for his brother. “Because you didn’t tell your boyfriend we were coming here tonight.”

“Why the hell would I cheat on Ben for Lip?” Mandy grumbled, grabbing a cup and pouring punch into it, “He’s not my type, too full of himself.”

“That’s not what I remember you saying over the summer,” Ian laughed into his cup. “Lip is an asshole though, avoid banging him.”

“Check,” Mandy replied, “Now, are you going to give me the scoop on my brother?”

“We're not fucking,” Ian replied easily with a hell of a lot of yearning in between the words.

“What the fuck are we doing?” Mandy snapped, “We used to get laid on the daily in high school! I can’t remember going this long without fucking.”

“Love does that,” Ian smiled but his smile slowly faded. He said love, he didn’t mean to say that, he just said love, oh shit. Mandy threw her hands in the air, the frustration overriding any fun she could be having at the party right now.

“I’m not fucking because Ben is a good Christian boy and wants to take shit slow, maybe even save himself for marriage. He barely let’s me jerk him off,” Mandy complained. Before she could pour herself another drink, Ian took the cup away.

“I told you that I’m not letting you do that,” he reminded, brushing his thumb over her trembling hand holding the alcohol. She eventually released her grip and Ian set the cup aside. “Look, don’t force yourself to stay with this guy because you think he’s as good as it gets. If you don’t like the fact that he doesn’t want sex, move on.”

“He’s is as good as it gets except that one thing,” Mandy groaned, “He’s really nice and always doing stuff for people, goes to church, volunteers at nursing homes for fuck’s sake!”

“You wanna spend your next summer at bible camp?” Lip muttered, coming out of the crowd with paint stains on his clothing. His eyes revealed the high he was currently riding.

“He’s a great fucking guy,” Mandy sneered, reaching for her alcohol again but Ian pushed her hand away gently.

“If you like whack jobs who don’t know how to go down on their girl,” Lip gloated.

“He’s good for me,” Mandy spat, going back into the crowd. Lip went to the punch bowl and for a minute, Ian assumed he was going to dip his face in, but he picked Mandy’s former cup up and downed it. Ian scratched his sleeve and unfolded his arms.

“You know, you can’t just spend the summer acting like Mandy’s boyfriend and then go right back to fucking around with other girls in college,” he stated, bringing up what needed to be said, finding this the right time. Lip gulped the rest of Mandy's punch and wiped some of the sweat from his forehead.

“I never said I was her boyfriend, that’s her issue.”

“Can you go one second without being a self absorbed dick? Maybe Karen shit all over you but Mandy didn’t, you shouldn’t treat her like that,” Ian sighed, leaning off the punch table. Lip finished the drink and set it back on the table, glancing at Ian.

“Okay,” he said simply, like that’s all there was to say. Ian couldn’t tell if that was good or bad but he didn’t have time to ask because Lip already dove back into the swarm of dancers.

Ian wanted to dance but he wasn’t feeling it and found himself getting a headache from the techno and booze. He stumbled out of the basement of the house party and into the clean air outside. Some kids doing weed were watching him make his way to the road but Ian ignored them, taking his phone out.

He called Mickey, just wanting to hear him or ask him to come by, anything. After a few rings there was no answer so Ian put his phone back up.

“Hey, you want a joint?” One kid behind him asked, raising one up with a laugh. “Looks like you could use it.”

Ian touched his phone one more time and then turned around, going up to the circle of college kids.

 

The knocking on the door jolted Mickey from his sleep, causing him to fumble through the dark for the gun under the sofa impulsively. He knew that his uncle and Lucas didn’t knock. He went to the door cautiously, hand on the trigger, looking at the alarm clock which read five in the morning. Mickey opened the door, gun up, and Ian jumped back.

“The fuck are you doing?” Mickey asked, still disoriented, lowering his gun. He suddenly felt crazy, here in his underwear, holding up a weapon to Ian.

“You really think a robber would knock?” Ian observed calmly, dropping his raised hands.

“I thought it might be Parker’s roommate, I stole more of his shit earlier,” Mickey explained, moving aside to let Ian in. “Didn’t know if the fucker figured out where Parker was.”

“Since when did you guys own a gun anyways? This ain’t South Side.”

Ian went to the couch to lay down, not even bothering to remove his shoes.

“You smell like pot and beer,” Mickey glowered, tossing the gun on the coffee table.

He watched, somewhat amused at how Ian curled up, eyes closing, breathing in heavily. Mickey looked around and waited for Ian to tell him why he was here but he just tucked his hands under his chin, wrapping himself up in his own coat.

“You want some water? Pain meds? A fucking blanket?” Mickey asked, at a loss of what else to do but let him doze off.

“You’re really good at taking care of people, Mickey,” Ian exhaled so quietly that Mickey wouldn’t have caught it if it weren’t for how silent the house was. Mickey stood still, unresponsive, and Ian curled further into the back of the couch, breathing deeply.

“I gave you so much shit, not knowing how much you did for people. You’re such a good person, Mickey, and you deserve everything."

His voice was sleep induced now and Mickey wanted to ask where this was coming from, what the fuck was up with Ian tonight, but he didn’t know how so he went to get some pills and a glass of water. When he returned, Ian was asleep, his even breathing filling the room as Mickey placed the glass down on the table steadily, inching closer to the couch.

He remembered a long time ago, waking up in Ian’s bed, finding out that this kid carried him for blocks, carried some guy he barely knew for no real reason except to give him water and headache medicine to nurse his hangover. That was the first time someone took care of Mickey, the first time someone gave a shit. Not too long after that, Ian dressed Mickey’s wounds, practically pleaded with his eyes to do it, and Mickey let him because nobody had ever asked to clean him up. Nobody had ever asked Mickey if he was okay, if the scars hurt, nobody did that shit.

And nobody had  _ever_ told Mickey that he was a good person.

Mickey considered leaving Ian there and throwing some blankets on the floor to sleep on but before he knew what he was doing, he eased into the sofa behind Ian, careful not to stir him. After staring at the back of his jacket for a while, Mickey moved closer.

He almost curled his hand into the jacket but ended up moving his arm so that it was around Ian’s waist instead. Ian didn’t move and his body was still rising and falling steadily so Mickey relaxed and pressed his face against his coat, closing his eyes.

“You’re a good person too,” he whispered, fingers sinking into Ian’s side as he drifted back off.

 

Mickey cracked his eyes open, finding that it was the break of dawn out, barely even eight in the morning. He was about to go back to sleep until he felt Ian shift in front of him and turn around so they were facing each other. It was pretty embarrassing, being caught curled up to Ian, but Mickey decided not to move away, too warm and comfortable at this point.

Ian looked hesitant and Mickey wondered if he was going to tell him something but he stayed silent. His hand came up to Mickey’s face and he moved closer, eyelids heavy.

They didn’t say anything as Ian kissed him softly, caressing his cheek like he was afraid of it being too much and when he pulled back to look at Mickey, eyes doting, Mickey closed the space between them, pushing into Ian, holding him around his waist more firmly.

They pulled apart long enough for Mickey to see the sunlight peeking through the window, illuminating the hollow spaces beneath Ian’s eyes, creating a luster over his parted lips, and Ian waited, his fingers slowly finding Mickey’s hair, gazing in a way that said if the sky was falling, he wouldn’t even move. So Mickey trusted that look and pulled Ian as close as he could, meeting his lips a third time, grabbing the back of his coat desperately.

Ian took it slow and kissed Mickey as if this moment might break if he did anything but that while Mickey wrapped his other arm around Ian’s neck, hand tangling into the ends of his red hair, remembering how Ian mentioned needing a haircut before. Then he deepened the kiss, trying to say he wanted this just as much so Ian responded positively, giving in, both hands against Mickey's face now, rubbing the skin softly.

The rest of the house seemed to dissolve around them as Mickey dragged Ian on top of himself, finding his weight comforting, not breaking their connection, and the heat rose in his face where Ian touched down his neck and sides, slipping his fingers under Mickey’s black Tee to stroke the skin above his boxers. Mickey couldn’t focus much on kissing anymore because Ian’s hand lowered so that he was palming him over the cotton of his boxers, putting pressure there, other hand gliding back up Mickey’s body until it reached his face again.

“That okay?” Ian whispered into his ear, leaving a kiss against it.

“Yeah,” Mickey exhaled, only able to get one word out because he was losing it. Ian applied more pressure, making Mickey squirm, before kissing him again and slipping his hand into the slit of the cloth. He found where Mickey was already hard and brushed his thumb over the sensitive tip, moving it in circles. Mickey twitched, squeezing his eyes shut harder, while Ian coiled his fingers around his shaft.

The air condition came on, creating a gentle hum in the room so Mickey wasn't too worried when a low moan spilled over his lips now that it wasn't so silent. He instinctively tucked his head into Ian’s neck, arm tightening around him while Ian moved his hand slowly up and down, kissing Mickey’s hair and temple. There was a hummingbird flying around behind Mickey’s ribs, that’s what it felt like, and he was going warm all over.

Ian pumped more quickly, squeezing just a little tighter, still leaving butterfly kisses along Mickey’s jaw and neck now and Mickey wanted to respond but he was too preoccupied with the way Ian was stroking him. Stealing a peek, Mickey could see the red on Ian's cheeks, the way he was breathing shallow, revealing that he was almost, if not more, stimulated than Mickey.

It happened so fast, Mickey didn’t even realize he was digging his nails into Ian’s jacket or that he breathed loudly over Ian’s pale neck, the need to release finally taking over. Ian moved his hand out of Mickey’s underwear and kissed him fully, removing his coat as he pushed his lower body down, discarding it on the carpet.

Even after coming, Mickey was still aroused, and wanted to touch Ian so he moved his hands over Ian’s hips and worked on the belt of his jeans, unzipping him, causing a groan to come from between Ian’s lips that was muffled over Mickey’s own. 

Mickey sat up and twisted, swinging his leg over Ian, pushing him back so that he was in the sofa cushions instead, hands working as fast as he could and Ian's belt was a motherfucker to remove but once Mickey got it off, he jerked his jeans down, growing annoyed at how long it was taking to pull them off. Ian laughed, kicking them to help, watching Mickey fumble around.

Mickey threw him the bird for good measure and got the goddamn pants off, moving so he was hovering the other.

“It’s not my fault you wear fucking girl pants,” he hissed, no real malice behind it.

“Shut up, they're skinny jeans,” Ian chuckled, stopping short and gasping out when Mickey’s hand flew down into his boxers and grasped his erection. Ian's eyes fluttered shut, hips rolling into it, forgetting about whatever the hell they were talking about.

He was making considerably more noise than Mickey had and was more responsive, roaming his hands over Mickey, anywhere he could touch, panting curse words under his breath as Mickey worked on him. Mickey went up and down, fascinated by how much Ian couldn't contain himself under the touch and the sound of his breathing, whether he was aroused, asleep, studying, it would never fail to be music to Mickey's ears. 

The apartment door shook, causing Mickey to stop, a cold washing over him. When there was a rustling of someone sticking keys into the bolt, Mickey jerked from his senses and hopped off Ian at the same time uncle Rick busted in. It took Ian a second to realize what happened because he opened his eyes, confusion clear as day.

Rick closed the door behind him gently, like he always did when he didn’t want to wake Mickey up, and tossed his keys on the shelf to his left.

“Sorry-” he started but paused when he saw the situation.

Mickey could literally take the gun off the table and put a bullet through his own head right now with how afraid he was. For whatever ungodly reason that Terry hated gays, his uncle might have that same discipline running through his own veins, even if it was never spoken out loud. There was no way to explain this.

Rick scratched his after shadow and smirked, actually fucking smirked, before going straight to the kitchen. Mickey waited but all he heard was the sound of the espresso machine starting up and cabinets opening and shutting.

Ian didn’t seem very worried about getting caught, he wasn’t even reaching for his pants, he just let his arm fall lazily over his stomach and wiggled his eyebrows.

“Mickey, you and Ian want some coffee?” Rick called from the kitchen. Mickey visibly jumped with a start.

“Yes!” Ian shouted, noticing how stunned Mickey was. He sat up and pat the couch but Mickey didn’t move a centimeter. “Mickey? What’s wrong?”

“He’s pissed,” Mickey said shakily, “He fucking came in while we were- goddammit!”

“I don’t think he gives a shit,” Ian smiled, reaching out to take Mickey’s hand but Mickey moved back. He swiftly made his way to the closet, rummaging, found some jeans, tugged them on and afterwards slipped on a pair of Vans. Ian didn’t know someone could dress that fast.

“Mickey, really, I think it’s okay.”

“He’s gonna throw that fucking coffee on us, as soon as it’s done boiling, he’s gonna splash it over our heads. We gotta get the fuck out of here,” Mickey spoke, his words like a spreading fire. Once both shoes were on, he grabbed a coat and went to the door but Ian ran around the couch and stopped him short.

“You have to calm down, Mickey,” Ian assured gently, putting himself in the way of the door, “Do you hear yourself?”

Uncle Rick came back in the room with two mugs and Mickey froze up, watching like a nervous rabbit as his uncle made way for the table to set the coffee down, not even looking at where they were standing. He stepped over Ian’s pants and coat before stopping in the kitchen doorway.

“Mickey, come in here,” he requested, vanishing back inside the kitchen. Mickey tried to move Ian out of his way but he wouldn’t budge. He pushed Mickey back without much force.

“It’s okay,” Ian tried. Mickey didn’t look convinced.

He finally went into the kitchen, wishing he didn’t feel so fucking scared, looking back at Ian one more time before going in, seeing his uncle firing up the stove.

“French toast and eggs okay?” Rick chimed, buttering up a coal colored skillet. The first thing Mickey pictured was his uncle snatching his hand up and pushing his palm down over the pan until the flesh got a third degree burn.

“Come over here, Mickey,” uncle Rick ordered patiently, moving away from the stove, letting it heat up.

What else could he fucking do? Mickey went around the island and stopped in front of his uncle, the capacity of his lungs shrinking.

When his uncle raised his hand, he expected the bone breaking punch, the skin tearing smack, but all he got was his uncle’s hand landing in his hair, moving back and forth over the top of his head briskly. Mickey waited and waited for this trap to be over but his uncle finished tousling his hair and went back to cooking like that’s how he always started his day, patting Mickey’s head.

If it weren’t for his quivering knees, Mickey would have shot a sentence like  _am I fucking twelve_ , maybe something more witty out of embarrassment, but he wordlessly left the kitchen, finding Ian fully dressed on the couch.

“Your uncle isn’t your dad,” Ian told him when he came in, expression full of concern.

Mickey looked back at the kitchen and then at Ian breathlessly. He didn’t fight it when Ian stood up and enveloped him into a comforting hug, lingering just long enough so that Mickey loosened up. He pulled back, corner of his lips curving.

“It's okay.”

And Mickey nodded, believing that. He went to sink back into the couch, exhausted, shutting his eyes, because he could actually go back to sleep.

He wouldn't have to worry about waking up in his own blood this time.


	39. Replace The Bad Memories

Ian threw his Duffel bag over his shoulder, yawning, ready to get out of this dorm. He overslept through class and missed seeing Sean leave this morning, not that he cared much at the moment as he was locking up the dorm, ready to get the hell out of here. Once outside, he shielded his eyes from the sun intense sun, unfitting for a chilly November afternoon.

What he didn’t expect was to find Mandy waiting, no bags or anything, just her, eyes red, huddling into herself from the cold. She didn’t run up and hug him so he went to her, hand going to her damp face. He wanted to ask what happened, why she was teary eyed, but chose to hug her instead, knowing that physical contact was the best way to evoke emotions out of Mandy. It worked, the second he dropped his bag and held her, she started to cry.

“I told him,” Mandy sobbed out. Ian rubbed circles over her back and pulled his face back so he could look at her.

“What happened?”

“I told Lip that I loved him,” she sniffed, head falling, shoulders shaking, “And he left.”

Ian hugged her again because that’s all he could do, that’s all he had to offer. He could bullshit about how things will get better, how she’ll forget about this soon, all kinds of lies but one thing Mandy couldn’t stand was a liar. He just held Mandy while she cried because he knew she was too prideful to let anyone but Ian see this side of her. She would drown herself into a bottomless pit of tears before she asked for help from anyone else.

"Sorry for crying," she said, wiping at her eyes. It was sad, her and Mickey being brought up to think tears meant defeat and weakness, it was so wrong. Ian let go of her and shook his head.

"It relieves stress, makes you feel better. Don't hold back your tears, Mandy, you owe it to yourself to let them out."

Mandy swallowed and smiled, trying to take his words to heart. Ian smiled back.

"Don't forget he's an asshole and you can do better. You  _are_ doing better."

Lip was his brother and Lip went through hell with Karen, with the emotional turmoil of preparing to be a father when he was never one in the first place, went through a lot of shit being one of the oldest Gallaghers, trying to hold his broken family together instead of accepting the golden platter future in front of him. Even in college, he still looked back at South Side, still couldn’t move forward, couldn't turn his back on home. He wouldn’t make promises to girls that fell in love with him because if he did, he had a future, and Lip was too tied down by his past to believe in a future.

All of the Gallaghers had it tough, so wrapped up in their own problems that they didn’t even realize they were making new ones at every corner. Lip didn’t deserve what South Side did to him- what Frank and Monica put him through- what growing up too fast turned him into.

But Mandy didn’t deserve this either.

 

Mickey crouched down and pet McMuffin, feeling himself smile as she purred against his entire arm, arching her back.

“I’ll be back in like a week,” he told her, scratching behind her downy ears.

“You’re leaving again.”

Mickey didn’t look back when he heard Parker’s voice. It was pretty awkward, staying in the same house with him after all this time not talking to each other, especially since Mickey had other shit going on now.

“I gotta go see my mom,” Mickey reminded, now rubbing his cat’s belly.

“Don’t leave again, Mickey, I need you,” Parker murmured, voice breaking.

So much giving into that dependency over the years only did more bad than good for both of them. If Mickey turned around and agreed, the cycle would repeat.

“I’ll be back in like a week, man, you’ll be fine. My uncle will be here and he’s going to drive you to your doctor-”

“You really hate me, don’t you? You won’t even look at me,” Parker mumbled lowly, trembling. Mickey hated the feeling of anger rising in his chest at those words, knowing that it wasn’t Parker’s fault for acting like this.

“I don’t hate you, I just need to-”

“Then stay!” Parker shouted. “I needed you, back then, and I still do but you don’t care about me anymore. I didn’t mean to go blind and-”

“Don’t say that shit,” Mickey glowered, “You know it’s not fucking true.”

“I’ll do whatever you want, just don’t go, Mickey, please don’t.”

“I was wrong for walking away, I’m sorry,” Mickey finally released, biting his tongue, “But it can’t be how it was before. Have you been doing what you’re supposed to with the doctor?”

Parker walked across the room and grabbed Mickey’s sleeve, eyebrows furrowing.  _Fight the guilt_ , Mickey told himself.

_Don’t give in._

“I gotta go,” he said quickly, opening the door to the hallway, picking up his book bag. “Take care of the cat, okay? I trust you with her.”

And even though he knew Parker could barely be responsible for himself, he had to make him think otherwise.

“Will you come back?” Parker asked weakly as Mickey backed into the hallway.

“Yeah, I’m coming back. You’ll be okay without me.”

Thinking about Parker cutting his own throat or jumping off the outside balcony, that was making it really fucking hard to leave. In the end, Mickey shut the door and took a much needed breath. He was going to go to Miami with Ian and Mandy, he was going to see his mom, he was going to do this shit.

Dropping his hand from the door, he walked down the hall and didn’t look back.

 

When Mickey met up with Ian and Mandy, they were both waiting at the bus stop in front of the school, chatting aimlessly. The first thing he noticed was how red Mandy’s nose was and then he noticed how drowsy Ian was looking, holding his bag lazily, eyes heavy.

“The fuck is up?” Mickey greeted, slinging his stuff over his shoulder more securely.

“Took your sweet time, didn’t you, fuck face?” Mandy greeted back, her tone more fitting than how raw her face looked.

“The bus don’t come for ten minutes so who the fuck looks stupid waiting so long out here now?”

“You’re insulting Ian too, you know.”

“I don’t give a fuck.”

Ian smiled a little and so did Mickey, right before a teal Nissan pulled up to the curb, the window rolling down.

“Yo, you no-license-having-motherfuckers need a ride?”

Mickey was about to tell this guy to piss off until he saw who was driving.

“We weren’t waiting for the bus so joke’s on you, Mick,” Mandy snorted, hopping into the back of the car, Ian following suit with a yawn.

“You have got to be fucking kidding me,” Mickey almost groaned.

“Come on, bro, wanna get out of here before traffic’s a bitch,” his older brother, Iggy, smirked from the driver's seat, hitting the wheel to make a point.

Mickey got in the passenger side and slammed the door.

“Goddammit, you live in fucking Miami, why the fuck are you here?”

“Came to Chicago for the week, had some stuff to take care of.”

“We’re staying at Ian’s tonight,” Mandy said as Iggy sped off, “You know how to get to South Side?”

“Not a clue,” Iggy admitted, glancing in the rear view mirror, seeing the top of Ian’s head, “Point the way, Scarlett Johansson.”

“That’s a new one,” Ian sighed, rolling his eyes at the nickname.

“I mean, stay in Miami or stay here, make your fucking mind up for Christ's sake!“

“Come on, Mick, I looked forward to seeing you all week!”

“Shut your fucking mouth, Mickey, always have something to say to somebody. Turn the radio up, Iggy!”

Ian listened to the bickering siblings for a while, trying to look forward to seeing his own now. It had been a while since he visited home, he avoided it like the plague, all because there were so many bad memories there. Fiona had to live in them and so did the little ones. He felt bad for pinning all that on them, not taking a little bit of the burden since he left.

“You ran that red light,” Mandy laughed. Iggy spun the wheel with one hand, skidding over the speed limit, and laughed with her.

“Jesus,” Mickey growled, slumping in his seat, scowling. “Learn to fucking drive.”

“As a mechanic, I’m offended, little bro.”

When Iggy swerved between cars, passing, getting some honks, he didn’t even flinch. Mickey glared out the window, holding onto the door handle.

“You want to take a right at this next intersection,” Ian spoke up from the back, pointing ahead.

“Mom loves when I take her on drives, she gets a rush out of it,” Iggy defended, turning sharply, making Ian slide into Mandy.

“She’s also a crazy bitch!” Mickey burst out, the car coming to a hard stop.

“Don’t talk about mom that way,” Mandy snapped at Mickey, leaning up in the seat. Mickey turned around, daring her to go on. Ian cleared his throat.

“Up here you take a lef-”

“The only one bitching right now is you, Mickey, you ever notice that?” Mandy pressed.

“Ever notice that you’re a fucking skank?”

Iggy took the left and started whistling, pushing a few buttons until a hip-hop song blasted from the car speakers. Ian rubbed his head, fatigued, but he kept directing Iggy through the traffic as best he could over the other Milkovich’s bickering.

Finally, they pulled up in front of the Gallagher residence and Ian hopped out so fast, he almost fell over, ears beating from the loud music.

“I’ll pick you guys up for the airport, tomorrow,” Iggy chirped when all of them exited the vehicle.

“Or don’t,” Mickey suggested, going up to the Gallagher house like he lived there his whole life.

“Thanks, Iggy,” Mandy smiled, waving.

“Hey,” Iggy called out to Ian while his siblings continued their former fight on the stairs of his house. Ian went up to the window.

“Mandy said you’re a thing with my brother.”

“Okay?” Ian retorted, wondering where this was supposed to be going.

“I just wanted to formally welcome you to Milkovich hell,” he smirked, “You know since we’ll be seeing a lot of each other this week and all.”

“Thanks, I think,” Ian replied, unsure. Iggy nodded and drove off, tires screeching around the corner.

Ian moved by Mickey and Mandy, drowning out their argument, knocking on his house door. It took forever before it opened but when it did, Carl answered, his hard exterior dropping when he saw Ian.

“Shit,” he greeted, not even minding much when Ian ruffled his hair.

“Why the hell are you all battered up?” Ian asked, taking note of the cuts and bruises tainting his sunken face.

“Beat the shit out of some kids on the bus. They don’t know how to shut their mouth.”

“You’re going to juvie if you keep that up,” Ian sighed, going inside. Mickey and Mandy came in after him and went upstairs, still in mid debate. Carl watched, not very interested, and closed the door.

“Mandy and Mickey?”

“Yeah, Fi said it was okay if they stayed the night. They’ve got a pretty fucked up family situation.”

“You’re letting the Milkovich’s stay overnight?” Lip fired, coming in from the kitchen, expression unreadable.

“Is that a problem?” Ian shot, not thinking Lip had a right to have an attitude, considering he was the one who fucked up with Mandy.

“They have their own house, one that’s a lot bigger than ours.”

“It’s one night, deal,” Ian finished, going upstairs. When he got up there, Mandy was on her phone and Mickey was sitting on Ian’s bed, looking bored.

“You guys have no shame,” Ian laughed, going to his bed to lay down, watching as Mickey moved for him. “Fi should be home soon with dinner. In the meantime, I’m napping.”

“There’s a few people I wanna see,” Mandy sang, going to the door. “I’ll catch you guys in a few hours.”

“Be careful,” Ian advised, too tired to keep his eyes open now. He could feel Mickey sitting next to him, his warmth radiating. He wanted to tell him to lay down too but Ian was already starting to fade out. Mickey made a taunting sound.

“Didn’t sleep last night?”

“I did,” Ian hummed, burying his face in the pillow. Mickey seemed occupied with his own thoughts for a while and then broke out suddenly, startling Ian.

“Are you cool with what we were doing the other day?”

Ian shifted, running what he heard through his head.

“Cool with what?”

“When we were on the couch and uh, you know,” Mickey grumbled, backing up more to the wall like it would make this less embarrassing. Interested, Ian rolled over to look at him, noticing the tint on his face but when they met eyes, Mickey glared at some random space in the room.

“Why wouldn’t I be okay with that?” Ian smiled lazily.

“You don’t get why?” Mickey asked, pulling a knee up to his chest.

“Did I act like I didn’t like it? We can try again if you weren’t convinced.”

Mickey shifted and blinked up at the ceiling.

“That’s not what I mean. I’m making sure you’re okay after it, you know, with all that shit from before. You were kind of a wreck when you were fucking around at school, the pedophiles-”

“What the hell?” Ian snapped, sitting up. “Why are you bringing that up? I’m clean if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“That’s not-” Mickey broke off and inhaled, “You always do this shit. If it’s about me or Mandy, you’re all for figuring things out but if it’s about you, different story.”

“What are you trying to say?” Ian asked quickly.

“You got a lot of pent up shit that you don’t know how to deal with, it’s written all over. You wanna resolve other people’s problems when you’re not dealing with your own.”

“I’m fine,” Ian replied, in disbelief. “I don’t even get what you’re jumping me for.”

“Maybe because you were barely sober that morning and you just started- like you thought you were supposed to-”

“Fuck you,” Ian grimaced, getting off the bed. “If I didn’t want to fuck around with you, Mickey, I wouldn’t have.”

“You come to my apartment in the middle of the night, tipsy, pretty high, nothing to say, and after a nap, you wanted to fuck out of the blue. Sound normal to you?”

“I won’t try to fuck you again if you’re so bothered,” Ian glared, turning around for the door.

“You kidding me?” Mickey spat, “You wanted to play therapist since we met but I turn it around and now you’re high tailing the fuck out.”

Ian walked out, leaving the house, regretting it as soon as he shut the front door because his coat was back in the room.  Who knows where Mandy wandered off to, there wasn’t much chance in finding her right now. Not only that but this was the worst possible time to catch a glimpse of Frank hobbling up the street from afar, that being Ian’s cue to get the fuck out of here.

When he went down the opposite street, he could hear footsteps behind him and groaned.

“Go away, Frank.”

“Like hell,” Mickey sighed irritably from behind, “Could you slow the fuck down?”

“I didn’t ask you to follow me.”

Mickey grabbed Ian and spun him around so they were face to face. That dark look in his eyes was back, the one that appeared every so often when Mickey was really angry.

“You know what you  _did_  ask? You asked me to face my own shit so I didn’t go fucking insane. I’m doing it because you had faith that I could.”

“Just leave me alone, Mickey,” Ian breathed out, struggling against his grip.

“I know you’re bummed out about something and you won’t say why, you never do. Take your own advice and start worrying about what the fuck’s going on with you for a change,” Mickey challenged, releasing him. Ian lowered his eyes, wishing he didn’t feel so tired and guilty right now.  

“Don’t follow me, okay?” he requested quietly, turning to leave, not looking at Mickey’s expression before he did. He kept his eyes on the sidewalk as he walked away, feeling more closed off than he thought possible.

 

“Where’s Ian?” Lip questioned, finding fucking Mickey Milkovich alone in his room.

“How the hell would I know?” Mickey remarked, mood fouler than Lip himself. There was an unsettling quiet and Lip glanced away. 

“Fiona has food out so uh- you have any idea where he went?”

“I’m not his keeper,” Mickey sneered, coming up off the floor. Without a word, he brushed by Lip and stalked downstairs, shutting the front door loudly to indicate that he left. Lip scanned the rest of upstairs, gathered Carl and Debbie, picked Liam up, and went back to the kitchen. So much for the whole family being there.

 

Mickey was so pissed off that he almost kicked over someone's recycling bin for the hell of it. He didn’t, he maintained his composure to a tee. Maybe he shouldn’t have been so fucking pushy.

That’s what he wanted to think except Ian was acting out of it this week, sometimes going dazed, just not quite there, and he didn’t mention a word of why. How did he get off badgering Mickey all year about not bottling up emotions and then here he was, reclusive, brushing Mickey off like he had every right to. It was fucked up.

Mickey could go sleep in the park, go find a bridge, act like a homeless kid again, because technically down here he was homeless. No amount of desperation would ever send him back to Terry, not even if there was a bomb strapped to his chest and Terry was the only one able to disarm it.

Though he’d be lying to himself if he denied that he was actually looking for Ian, searching around as if he was tracing a lost pup instead of a six foot tall ginger. There was no sign of him in the alleys around the block but Mickey did find Mandy, hanging around a couple of South Side girls who were giving all the signs they were open for business when Mickey walked up.

“You seen Ian?”

“He’s not with you?” Mandy answered, tapping ash off her cigarette.

“No, he’s with me, I was just making sure your eyes were fucking 20/20.”

“I don’t know where he went, asshole,” she glared.

“Gallaghers got food on the table,” Mickey claimed. It was weird to say that, say it like it was  _their_  family who had a Thanksgiving dinner waiting on them at home. It wasn’t though, it wasn’t even meant for him and Mandy in the first place, even if Ian invited them.

“See you guys around,” she told the girls, catching up to Mickey while he sped off. “Wait up, I’ll help look for Ian.”

More than anything Mickey just wanted some alone time but he figured Mandy couldn’t be so bad, she didn’t pester him too much if his vibes were offbeat enough, like they were right now. She was contemplating but staying true to when talking to Mickey was okay and when it wasn't, deeming this as a  _wasn't_ , she didn't provoke him. They were quiet searching South Side’s nooks until they discovered Ian, a few blocks away, sitting on the sidewalk with an empty bottle of Bud Light at his side.

“Hey,” Mandy speculated, crouching in front of him. “What are you doing out here?”

“Nothing,” he replied, emotionless, looking completely defeated. At least he wasn’t too drunk so Mandy touched his arm and rubbed it.

“Let’s go home, eat some turkey.”

“More like chicken,” Ian tried to smile, worn out. When he got up, he accidentally kicked over the empty bottle, eyes landing on Mickey. It sucked when his eyes drooped again and he let Mandy be the one to hold onto his arm, not acknowledging Mickey.

When they got back to the Gallaghers, Ian paused at the door.

“Can we have a a sec?” he asked Mandy. She seemed taken back but just went in the house, leaving them alone. Mickey stood at the bottom of the steps, not even sure if he was still allowed to sleep here or not after their little fiasco earlier.

“I haven’t been feeling so great this week, been drowsy,” Ian admitted, hand on the railing. “ Sorry that I yelled at you.”

“Sorry? I don’t want a fucking apology.”

“What do you want then?” Ian asked, baffled, tucking his hands into his pockets.

“Just tell me if I’m making this shit up in my head or whatever because it’s pissing me off,” Mickey muttered. He hated that this was the best he could say to show Ian his concern. He just wanted him to open up, get shit out, wanted to make sure the tired lines over his face and lethargic movements lately were nothing more than a hard week in class.

Thinking back to the morning of their exchanged hand jobs, Ian was weird then too. He was into it but he was cautious, a fragile latency in his gaze, and it wasn’t until later Mickey realized why that might be.

“We don’t have a problem if you say nothing’s up and mean it,” Mickey repeated since Ian insisted on staying silent. A few agonizing minutes passed until Ian turned his head.

“When we go in there and celebrate Thanksgiving, I’ll have to think about what the hell I’m thankful for,” he began heavily. He played with his sleeves for a second and continued in almost a whisper, moving his fingers anxiously.

“I won’t be doing that though, I’ll be thinking about something else.”

Mickey stayed patient, not liking the way Ian’s body was deflating, voice passive.

“I’ll be thinking about how Monica tried to kill herself in front of us and ran off for the millionth time and how we’ve never had any fucking money my entire life. Sitting with Fiona and Lip, I'll think about how I slept around to help pay the bills and how I’m a piece of shit older brother for trying to run away so I didn’t have to do it anymore.”

The air was stagnant, no wind, no sound, and Ian moved in discomfort under the porch light.

“Nobody caught on to what I was doing with all those guys, not even Lip noticed, and Mandy just thought I was doing it because I was a teenage boy, she didn't have a clue. They never gave a second thought to why I came home late, didn't know I just sucked some guy off, got jerked around in an alley for money, nobody cared because we’re all so self absorbed around here, it doesn’t matter.”

If that wasn’t the sound of the lid bursting, Mickey sure didn’t know what was. When Ian didn't make any move to keep talking, Mickey asked no more questions, he just took Ian's wrist in his hand and lead him down the street, turning into a desolate alley, glad that Ian wasn’t protesting.

“So, you don’t go home much because you hate that the Gallaghers didn’t see you were suffering?” Mickey asked in a low voice, letting go of Ian’s arm.

“No, I mean, not exactly. . . It’s fine, we all have our own-”

“If it was fine, you wouldn't look like you wanted to bury yourself under the concrete.”

“Sorry,” Ian slumped on the alley wall, face away from him.

“We're in an alley now,” Mickey stated, glancing in all directions. Ian gave him a skeptical look. “This where you did shit you weren’t proud of, right? Probably stuff you want to forget.”

“Yeah, I guess-”

“Well,” Mickey went on, “Those memories will burn forever, too hard to erase. One day though, they’ll dwindle, won't burn so bright. You’re not here anymore,” he said, pushing Ian into the wall lightly, “being pinned back by some sleaze bag. I'm not going to force you on your knees, man.”

Ian’s eyes widened hearing that, his breath hitching, his throat shriveling. Mickey eased back, tilting his head to the side.

“If you’re thinking about shit with your mom or family and it's making you down, it's time to stop pretending it's going to just disappear in a cloud of smoke. The way you’re dealing, ain’t working.”

It was getting darker out but neither of them commented on it, just stayed planted in this tight, empty alleyway.

“I wanted to touch you, that wasn’t fake,” Ian blurted softly. “But I did get kinda drunk and high before I came to your house because I was feeling sorry for myself, anticipating going home. And I didn’t solely have sex for money, I used to use it as an outlet for my emotions too so I- I guess I shouldn’t have touched you without working on those feelings first.”

Mickey looked surprised by that information and burst into laughter. Ian’s face reddened and he leaned off the wall.

“How the hell is that funny?”

“Don’t think I minded very much,” Mickey snorted, “As long as you’re not forcing yourself to do shit with me because you think you're supposed to.”

“I’m not. I wouldn't,” Ian murmured, blushing when Mickey was suddenly in his space.

“I should have got you to talk when you came to my house,” Mickey grumbled, “I won’t make that mistake again.”

Ian averted his eyes, feeling weirdly shy and vulnerable.

“I can replace your memories here if you want,” Mickey offered, breathing into Ian’s neck, some new found confidence uprising that Ian wasn’t used to seeing. Tempted, Ian turned his head, nose brushing against Mickey's jawline. His heart started pounding in his chest because Mickey's hand fell there, like he was protecting it.

“Sorry," Ian sighed, so tired that it was hard to stand. "Is it okay if we just head home? I’m pretty beat.”

Mickey pulled back, smiling, not in the least offended.

"Sure you'll be alright?"

"Yeah," Ian replied, wishing he wasn't so drained at the moment. Mickey turned away, clearing out of the alley, glancing back when Ian didn't move. 

"You, ah-" Ian started, peeling himself off the wall, remembering how to move, "You read through all my shit last year, the stuff I had to sort out on paper," he clarified, "but I know you did it because you noticed I was in pain, didn't you?"

Mickey smirked a little, turned away, and chuckled.

"Fuck off."

 


	40. Not So Bad When You're Not Alone

It was still hard to believe that Ian was thousands of feet in the air, surfing through the stratosphere, only two hours from Miami. Mandy was sitting to his left and staring out the tiny hole of the plane window, hand on the glass so she could feel the vibrations.

“There are still clouds there, just like there was an hour ago,” Iggy teased from behind her, sitting up to lean over where her and Ian were seated.

“Not all of us take the airline back and forth like the fucking L,” Mandy retorted, undaunted, peering out the glass again.

“I like to fly,” Iggy grinned, eyes going down on Ian, “Too bad I don’t think all of us feel that way here.”

Ian was doing the best he could to busy himself, reading magazines Mandy brought, playing the game handheld Iggy brought, but none of it was helping. Even after an hour, he was still whipping his head around during flight turbulence, checking for any miraculous combustion or for signs that the exterior of the plane was breaking apart, sucking all the passengers out in a wind tunnel.

“He’s never flown,” Mandy explained, rubbing Ian’s arm.

“I’ve seen a shit ton of car crashes,” Iggy said, “Driving on the street is a lot more risky than being in the air.”

“Not helping,” Mandy snapped. Iggy slumped back and chuckled. Ian swallowed, his arms tensing, his stomach flopping. Just two more hours.

“I told Ben about my confession to Lip,” Mandy admitted suddenly, face grave. “He wasn’t even angry, didn’t yell or anything. He had this expression like I took his soul away and I think that made me feel even worse.”

“Did you break up?” Ian asked, sucking in when his eye caught the window, reminded of how far up they were.

“No, he didn’t break up with me,” Mandy sighed, “I kinda wish he did. I’m shit for doing that.”

“You made a mistake, Mandy, and if Ben’s willing to work it out, you should learn from it.”

She nodded in agreement and bit on one of her nails, looking back out the window. Ian guessed she was probably about to get teary eyed and didn’t want him to see so he looked out at the passengers.

That’s when Mickey decided to roll back into the compartment, coming from the bathroom, and he was patting the various pockets on his jacket, frowning. He was still searching when he got back to his seat, behind Ian, and finally grunted, a sound Ian recognized as meaning _ah-ha!_

Swiveling in his chair, Ian peeked down at Mickey, staying half hidden behind his arm.

“The hell are you doing?” Iggy asked when he saw Mickey put a cigarette between his teeth.

“Playing fucking charades,” Mickey replied, “The fuck do you think?”

“Can’t smoke on here, Mick.”

“The FAA can fuck themselves.”

“Who the fuck is that? Hey- Stop!”

Mickey flicked the jukebox lighter in front of the cigarette and Ian laughed when Iggy batted it out of his hand. Mickey turned sharply, taking the cigarette out to yell.

“Are you out of your goddamn mind, Iggy? You leave your brain at home or somethin’?”

“I’m not getting banned from flying because you’re a chain smoker, man!”

“When we get outta here, I’m kicking your ass,” Mickey threatened but pocketed the lighter and smoke. Iggy looked proud of himself and pulled his handheld out, stuck some earphones in, and started muttering curse words at the racing game on the screen.

Ian was still smiling when Mickey caught him staring.

“Hey,” Mickey acknowledged, like he was seeing Ian for the first time today, a hint of a smirk on his face.

“Hey,” Ian answered slowly, blush creeping up because the hostility used on Iggy vanished from Mickey’s face. Mickey scrutinized him for a few seconds and made a small hum.

“You nervous?”

Ian was glad half his face was hidden behind his sleeve so Mickey couldn’t see him grow flustered. Was he kidding? Just looking at Mickey made him a nervous wreck, all his insides jumbled together.

“I’m talking about the plane,” Mickey claimed lowly, like he could read Ian’s mind.

“Oh, uh,” Ian coughed over his elbow, “I guess I’m getting used to it.”

Truth be told he was scared shitless of this bird falling out of the sky but seeing Mickey so collected helped calm his nerves. Mickey glanced at Iggy before leaning forward so he was closer to Ian.

“Then why are your hands trembling?” he asked softly, lips parted, eyes sly.

Ian hid further into his arm, eyes down on his own palm. Mickey was right, his hands were kind of _trembling_. Although, with Mickey’s face so close, he wasn’t sure if it was the plane causing that.

Mickey flashed another look at Iggy, who was so engrossed in his game he wasn’t paying attention, and then reached out, pressing the pads of his fingers against Ian’s knuckles. The skin tingled under Mickey’s placid touch, firing sparks across his neurons and for a moment, Ian forgot about being above ground, too focused on the way Mickey grazed his thumb over the back of his hand.

Even miles high, Mickey was the image of fearlessness, and that in itself made Ian think maybe this plane wasn’t going to burn to the ground after all. At least if it did, he wouldn’t be alone.

“When I give this signal,” Mickey broke out, covering Ian’s hand fully, bringing his other, free hand up to his own head. He saluted briefly with two fingers and finished with, “We’re going to run.”

“What?” Ian bursted, confused.

Mickey peeked over the seats at Mandy, who was absorbed in texting her boyfriend, then checked Iggy’s status one last time, before returning his attention to Ian. “Trust me and run on the signal.”

Ian wasn’t getting it so Mickey laughed and slid his hand off of Ian’s, leaning back in his seat. When he noticed the disappointment that fell over Ian’s face, he smiled.

“Your hand stopped trembling.”

Ian looked down. Damn.

 

Once the plane landed, Ian never thought he could be so happy to be on ground. He ran off, tempted to kiss it, but thought better of that and followed the Milkovich siblings out of the airport.

Outside, the sun was high in the endless sky, painting the town in heat and sunshine. Ian immediately removed his coat, seeing the others do the same, and relished in the warmth of the air. He marveled at the towering buildings, admired the sparkling waters of the coast, and all the anxiety of the plane washed away.

“What the hell, it’s like eighty degrees out here. Chicago was the North Pole compared to this. Isn’t it winter?” 

“We’re closer to the equator, what did you expect?” Mickey snorted, dodging one of Mandy’s punches.

“Shut up, smart ass.”

“One of my guys should be picking us up in a few,” Iggy informed, glimpsing at his watch. “I need a fucking drink.”

“Go fucking buy some and bring them back here,” Mickey commanded, avoiding another one of Mandy’s throws. “The fuck is up with you?”

“It’s like TV,” Ian stated, still in awe. Compared to his shitty neighborhood, even compared to North Side, this city was something to behold.

“That’s because we’re in the tourist area,” Mickey scoffed, “It’s not all like this.”

“Man, I really need a drink,” Iggy complained further, going closer to the street, tapping his watch. Mandy pulled her phone out and held it in the air to take a few pictures, probably meant for Ben. Ian finally shut his gaping jaw and scrunched his coat up further under his arm, hopping to steady the bag on his shoulder.

“Hopefully he’s driving the Mustang and not the fucking Volvo. If I have to ride in his precious, puke green Volvo one more time-” Iggy stopped speaking and then made an aggressive, incoherent slur of words before saying, “Fuck! He brought the Volvo.”

On the street in front of them, a green car glided up with Salsa music booming from the interior. A chiseled man in a tank top, skin much tanner than the rest of theirs, gestured at them wildly to come on.

“If you think I can’t drive, you’re in for it, Mickey,” Iggy chortled, going up to the car. Mandy took one more shot of a building in the distance and waited for the other two.

Mickey waltzed up, bumping into Mandy on the way purposefully, and went on the other side of the car, stopping at the door while Ian jogged up on the other side. He waited for Mandy to file in the back, and looked up over the car at Mickey, wondering why he wasn’t getting in.

Mickey smirked and shot two fingers up to his temple before he flew off down the street. It took all of two seconds for Ian to remember and run after him, leaving the green Volvo in the dust. Adrenaline pulsed through Ian as he crossed the trafficked street after Mickey, rounding behind a restaurant, grinning madly when he caught up.

Mickey looked pleased to see him and to show it, he abruptly pulled Ian by the collar of his shirt and kissed him.

Heart already racing, Ian responded just as needy. As if the humidity wasn’t sweltering him enough, savoring Mickey’s lips was adding to it. He burnt up from Mickey gripping his hips, sucking the same air, alone in this shaded back lot of the building. The kissing was messier than usual, a lot less reserved. 

Mickey moved back and ran a hand through his hair like he was a little embarrassed about doing that but definitely not ashamed.

“I’m starting to think you can’t stand sharing me,” Ian exhaled, catching his breath from the run and make out.

“Okay and that’s where you’re not allowed to think anymore,” Mickey flushed, thrown off. He retrieved his lighter and was already smoking so fast, Ian didn’t have time to blink.

“Why did we just ditch your brother and sister, then?” Ian smiled, wishing he had a gallon of water right now.

“They want to go to some posh hotel and drink until they fall asleep, wake up tomorrow afternoon and drive to Medusa’s house.”

“Medusa?”

“Mother,” Mickey waved off, lifting his cigarette momentarily, “And hell if I’m spending my break doing that shit.”

“What are we gonna do then?” Ian perked up, “Since you’re such a local.”

“Came here sometimes when I was little, that's about it,” Mickey grunted, puffing a couple of rings of smoke. He then gave a coy smile. “Hope you’re not tired, we’re staying out late.”

 

The day was cooling down as it fell closer to dusk but it was still warmer than Chicago by a landslide. First, the two of them ate at a seafood place, ordering crab and shrimp until they were completely stuffed, and then wandered around the various parks and streets, hopping on and off the transit just like the L all over again. When the noon sun was low on the horizon, they headed for the zoo.

Ian stuffed his jacket in his book bag hours ago so his hands were free to pet the animals but he ended up not doing much of that. Mickey was currently running his fingers over the scruff of a baby tiger’s neck, treating it the way he did his cat back at home. It never ceased to amaze Ian how much happier Mickey became when he was around animals, like at the aquarium. The tiger tried to gnaw at his hand so he evaded and pet against the side of it’s body.

Ian went on his knees to look at it but he made no move to touch. A little kid waddled up with her mom and Mickey let her play with the baby tiger for a minute.

“Let’s hit the snakes next,” Mickey said, “Or are you scared of those too?”

“I’m not scared,” Ian flushed. The tiger cub flopped down, pawing at it’s own face, and Ian smiled, thinking it was pretty cute. He reached out and hesitantly touched along the top of it’s head, recoiling when it looked at him. Mickey laughed and grabbed Ian’s hand so he could put it on the tiger’s back. The tiger’s long tail swayed back and forth, not seeming to mind their hands.

“See? He’s cool with it.”

Ian dragged his hand along the fur and smiled when the tiger purred.

“I guess, snakes next?” he grinned. Mickey smirked.

It was terrifying to watch a child take a picture with a Texas Rat Snake coiled around their shoulders or at least Ian thought so. Mickey was at complete ease with a different snake in the handling room, letting it slither up his arm. He used his other hand to support the bottom half of the snake’s body, impressed at it’s speed. The pale scaled creature flicked it’s tongue out close to Mickey’s neck and Ian flinched.

“This guy’s probably stressed after being picked up all day,” Mickey muttered as the snake tried to go into his shirt. He pulled it loose and raised an eyebrow at Ian.

“No, thanks, I’m good,” Ian shuddered, relieved when Mickey gave the snake back to the trainer.

“That snake is more afraid of you than you are of it, man.”

“I don’t know about that.”

“You’d be surprised,” Mickey shrugged.

The two of them left the zoo, back on the Miami streets again and Ian thought about what Mickey said for a little while in the silence. He was careful around Mickey when he first met him, thinking he had to be bad news, but what if Mickey was intimidated by Ian too? Maybe Mickey was afraid in his own way.

“Your call,” Mickey decided, “Where to now?”

“I’ve never been to the ocean, wanna swim?” Ian chirped. The pool in the back of his house was the closest he had to doing that. Thinking about the beautiful Miami beaches gave him another idea. “Or we could go scuba diving, would be legit."

“You wanna snorkel?” Mickey asked, wrinkling his nose.

“Yeah, let’s go,” Ian grinned. Mickey didn’t seem very excited by the idea so Ian's smile dropped. “What? I wanna see coral and the seafloor, stuff I can’t see in Chicago.”

“I’ll take you but I’m not diving,” Mickey drawled, going around a street corner. Ian went after, bewildered.

“Why not?”

“Shit, the transit’s coming,” Mickey gruffed out, rushing along the sidewalk with Ian so they didn’t miss it. They slid into the train compartment and sat down and Mickey looked down at the GPS on his phone to know what stop to get off at.

“We can do something else,” Ian offered, noticing the color gone from Mickey’s appearance.

“Hell no, you’re diving.”

“But I don’t want to if you don’t. I think you have to schedule that kind of thing early anyways.”

Mickey contemplated that for a second and then put his shoes up on the seat in front of them.

“Then you can go later this week.”

“You’ll dive?” Ian inquired.

“Not a chance.”

“Come on, Mick, it’ll be fun.”

“Fucking drop it,” Mickey snapped, turning to the window, quiet. That drained all of Ian’s energy and he didn’t pester Mickey again. When they got off the transit, Mickey checked the time and paced, looking up into the dimming sky.

“What now?” Ian murmured, a little tired but mostly down about earlier. Mickey was still pacing, thinking, and then he met Ian’s eyes for a second before turning towards the coast. He said nothing and walked off, Ian going after him.

They walked in silence for half an hour until Ian was surprised to find they were heading to the beach. Now that it was after dusk, there wasn’t a whole lot of people out on the white sand and Mickey made sure they found a vacant space.

The city lights were showering pale oranges and blues over the sea and it had to be the most beautiful thing Ian had ever laid eyes on. He strayed from Mickey to the water, drawn in by the gentles waves. Chicago had a lakefront, it's own pretty body of water, but it wasn’t until Ian was up close to the ocean that he realized how different the two were.

Mickey sat down in the sand, not too far off from where Ian was, and peered out too as Ian walked forward and crouched, dipping his hand into the salty water, closing his eyes to the feeling of it swaying back and forth over his skin. Eventually, Ian couldn't stand that small tension he felt since their fight on the transit and the unbearable need to resolve it erupted. There had to be a plausible reason for Mickey’s outburst earlier so wanting to fix it, Ian strode back up to where he was sitting.

“You can’t swim?” Ian wondered, squatting in front of him. Mickey averted his eyes and then shrugged like that was enough explanation.

“Is that it? You just can’t swim?”

“Do I have to spill out every fucking piece of my sob story to you?” Mickey glared, “Why don’t you try it out, talk about whatever dark shit you don’t want anyone to know about, even the playing field a little.”

While his words cut, Ian couldn’t be too mad about it. It wasn’t like he was wrong. Ian had a way of worrying over Mickey all the time and asking too many questions, never knowing how to let things go. He picked up some of the clumped up sand and slowly let it run out through his fingers.

Maybe he did need to even the playing field between them. 

“You know how I’ve been tired lately?” he asked quietly, hoping he didn’t lose his courage. Mickey didn’t answer.

All of a sudden Ian’s body tightened up and an incredible amount of anxiety bubbled over inside of him. He wondered if this was how Mickey felt whenever he talked about his past or told Ian secrets. Taking a much needed amount of air into his lungs, Ian dropped the rest of the sand. It was now or never.

“I have bipolar,” he confessed, kind of wanting to swallow up the words once they left. The sea breeze picked up and he downcast his eyes, afraid. He stopped playing with the sand and went into a state of restlessness.

“I mean, I - I take medicine for it,” he continued, stuttering, “Sometimes I get side effects. That’s why I nap a lot, it makes me kind of tired.”

Mickey was still silent so Ian’s anxiety grew. That could mean anything, Mickey being quiet. Was he pissed that Ian kept it from him? Did he know what bipolar was? Did he even care?

“Let me get this straight,” Mickey interrupted, stoic, “You want to know every little fucking thing about my life, expect me to trust in you, but it never crossed your mind to tell me this shit? Are you fucking kidding me?”

In that moment, Ian thought Mickey might jump up and leave or shove him backwards, do something drastic, but he was staring at Ian coldly and that was almost worse.

“I didn’t think it was a big deal,” Ian defended, not being entirely truthful, and that set Mickey off.

“What in the fuck? I’ve been wearing my problems like goddamn medals for your ass and you think this isn’t a big deal? You couldn’t tell me this shit because you decided it wasn't a big deal? Fuck you.”

The urge to claw at his own skin or bury himself into the sand came over Ian at the words and he got more jumpy.

“It’s not like I’m proud of it,” he stammered, “I didn’t want you to treat me like I’m crazy the way my family does. It just got harder to say the longer we-”

“You are fucking out of your mind,” Mickey growled, “Pullin’ this shit.”

“I’m sorry, Mickey,” Ian choked out, fear building up in his bones, “I should have told you before, it was shitty of me to hide it. I’m really sorry, Mickey, please don’t-”

He stopped and huddled into himself, wishing he wasn’t such a fucking mess inside. Numerous times he thought about mentioning the disease to Mickey but made countless excuses of why not to and now it was circling back to him.

“I’m not pissed that you didn’t tell me, you don’t _have_ to tell me shit,” Mickey fired, “But it would be fucking nice to get a little faith on your end, considering you burst into tears whenever I keep something from you.”

“Sorry, you’re right, I should have told you,” Ian answered quickly, doing his best not to let those tears spill out right now, “I was always finding reasons not to. That wasn't fair, I'm sorry.”

“You think I don’t know what the fuck that's like? Before you came along, that’s all I did. But I opened up to you, asshole, and you couldn’t even mention that you were dealing with manic-depression? What the hell is wrong with you?” Mickey fumed, swiping his knuckles over his bottom lip, visibly hurt.

“I know, I fucked up, I’m so sorry, Mickey. I want you to trust me, I just hate that part of myself. I pop my pills every day pretending it’s not because I’m a fucking psycho-”

“You’re _not_ a psycho,” Mickey sighed, dropping his head, shaking it, “You just don't think sometimes.”

And in a weird way that made Ian feel better, because Mickey wasn’t treating him differently, wasn’t choosing his words appropriately as if one bad move could upset Ian’s balance. After a few minutes of sitting in the evening wind, listening to the waves, Mickey spoke again.

“When did you find out?”

“A couple years ago,” Ian admitted, “Only my family knows.”

They stayed quiet again, both settling down, and Mickey raised his head.

“I had no fucking clue you were struggling with that, you have a better handle on your shit than me, that’s for sure.”

Ian couldn’t help but smile through his brokenness. Mickey was commending his efforts on dealing with his bipolar rather than freaking out and that meant the world. He moved closer to Mickey and put his forehead against the denim on his knee, his fears diminishing a little.

“I promise I won’t lie to you anymore,” Ian whispered, depleted. Mickey didn’t comment or move from the contact. “I just try to forget I have it sometimes. I don’t want this to be who I am or who you think I am.”

He toyed with Mickey’s shoelace to distract himself from breaking down.

“Frank’s going to die with a bottle in his hand,” he continued, closing his eyes, “Fiona with a jar of hearts. It’s part of who they are. I’m going to die with this disease, like Monica, you know? I hate that.”

Mickey shifted and lifted Ian’s face, features smoothing over.

“Do you think I’m my dad?” Mickey frowned. “I’m violent and reckless, doesn’t that make me a monster like him?”

Ian instantly shook his head, voice cracking, “No, of course you’re not-”

“Then you’re not Monica,” Mickey replied, “You’re you, Ian.”

The tears cascaded down Ian’s face before he could stop them but he didn’t tear himself away, under Mickey's gaze, even if he felt ashamed.

“My dad held me under water until I passed out when I was a kid,” Mickey confessed suddenly, “That’s why I can’t swim, I avoid deep water. Terry did a lot of fucked up things and your mom hurt you too, right? Fuck them, we shouldn’t live in fear because of their decisions. I'm still pissed you didn't say anything about this but I think I can get over it.”

Mickey flew up and dragged Ian along with him over the dusty beach then without explanation. They neared the water and Ian hiccuped in surprise when Mickey pulled him out to the ocean edge, going straight in with his shoes and clothes.

“Wait-” Ian gasped when the water sloshed against his ankle, soaking his sock. Mickey kept going, determined. The water wasn’t very cold at least but Ian was in shock while they went further out, out until the waves reached their stomachs.

“Don't let me drown and I might forgive you,” Mickey requested, backing up a little bit more. As tough as he was acting, Ian didn’t miss how he was completely alert and on edge.

A wave came up and splashed across Mickey’s back from behind, draining the smile from his face, freezing him.

“I won’t,” Ian chuckled, gaining a hold on his emotions again, now being the one to string Mickey along into deeper water.

“Holy fuck,” Mickey exasperated, like he was just now realizing how submerged they were. The waves weren’t harsh so it was easy to bob over them but Mickey didn’t seem convinced they weren’t going to come crashing down any second.

“Wanna go under at the same time?” Ian challenged, now shoulder deep in the waters, knowing that was one of the reasons Mickey came out here, to prove something. He pounced up over a rolling wave, bringing Mickey with him.

“Shit, this could have been more planned out, huh?” Mickey groaned, huddling closer to Ian. “Go under, fuck. . . What's the signal?”

Ian ducked his head and kissed Mickey because he couldn’t hold back anymore. He was so fucking happy with him, even when things got low. Mickey held onto him, probably more because they could barely touch the bottom of the ocean, but that was okay with Ian. They didn’t kiss for very long, a wave came up and sprayed them, almost going over their heads. They broke apart and bounced up over it.

Breathing heavily, Mickey blinked at Ian.

“Good enough signal for you?” Ian whispered. Mickey made a breathy sound that meant _you’re such a cocky bastard_. Ian smiled and shut his eyes for a second, enjoying this space of the ocean, this point in time he got to share with Mickey. 

"Thank you, Mickey," he told him softly. 

"I think you dealt with enough of my shit to call it even," Mickey snorted and Ian thought he might start crying from happiness again. 

When another wave lolled towards them, they looked at each other and inhaled, going under the water simultaneously. Being beneath the water wasn’t so scary to Mickey, not how he remembered. 

Maybe because Ian took his hands and reminded him that they would go back up to the surface, together.


	41. Freedom

Mickey wasn’t lying when he said they would be staying out all night. After drenching themselves in the ocean, they ended up laying out on the sand for a while, just talking. It was at night, in the closure of silence and seclusion that Mickey seemed to speak the most freely. It was like that in Ian’s room before the summer, when Mickey would sleep over, they would talk quietly until Ian fell asleep.

“Okay, but really, you never got shot? You never pissed anyone off or do you get away with it because you’re pretty?” Mickey asked, tone more curious than envious. Ian smiled at that and rolled his head to the side so he could look at Mickey’s profile.

“I guess I’m not enough of a bad boy.”

Mickey pondered for a moment, placing his arm behind his head, and said, “I’ve been shot at least four fucking times. Fucking kids owing me money and they’re so coked up, they shoot blindly, all paranoid and shit.”

Ian was distracted, leaning up a little to peek down at Mickey’s colorful sort of expressions while he spoke.

“Took my first bullet in the shoulder, hurt like a motherfucker.”

“Go to the hospital?” Ian asked, searching for traces of the bullet scar on Mickey's bare arm.

“Hell no, you know what my dad would have done if someone reported his son at the hospital? Not risking that shit.”

“Fuck, Mickey,” Ian murmured sadly. Mickey kept his eyes on the sky which was now inky and starkly bright from the city light pollution, void of stars. Ian put his palm out, hovering it over Mickey's eyes and laughed.

“No gunshot wound but uh, I did kinda get into it with this guy once. Lip was running his mouth and it was to the wrong person, go figure. He came at Lip with a knife and I intervened, got my hand sliced.”

Mickey looked at the faint white line across Ian’s palm and flicked his eyes to Ian.

“What the fuck happened after that?”

“I came home with blood all over my shirt,” Ian sighed. When he noticed the look on Mickey’s face, he chuckled, “ _His_ blood, not mine.”

“Damn,” Mickey replied, eyes smoking over, “Didn’t know you had it in you.”

They looked at each other and Ian thought time could freeze around them and he would be perfectly fine with that.

“I wanna ask you something but you don’t have to answer,” Mickey said quietly. Ian swallowed and nodded, apprehensive.

“What did Monica do to you?”

Ian was surprised by the question and rolled on his back to think of an answer. How did he begin to explain what Monica did? How much hell she put the people in her life through? How much she hurt her kids?

“Maybe it’s what she _didn’t_ do,” Ian confirmed, almost talking to himself.

“Yeah? What’s that?” Mickey asked softly, head turned to Ian.

“I mean, part of it is the disease but-” Ian swallowed again, forming words the best he could, “But, she chooses to be the way she is. She chooses not to apologize, she chooses to leave, you know? I finally understood her, in a way, when I first found out about being bipolar. I hated myself so much, wanted to convince myself that nothing changed, I was me, I was okay, even if everyone else thought I wasn’t." 

He paused and bit his bottom lip.

"With bipolar it’s like one second you’re so high on life that you _feel_ everything at once and it's amazing. You do all these things because you're in love with living, you know? Then the crash happens," he dropped his voice, thinking of how to continue. After a few seconds of thought, he went on.

"That’s the sky falling down and you don’t give a fuck if you’re breathing or not when it does. It’s mortifying, to sink so low after sailing on top of the world because during the high, you feel okay, feel like you’re just you.”

Ian sighed quietly and lifted his hand towards the sky, like he wanted to grasp the moon, “But during the low, you’re depressed again and you remember that you’re not really you after all. The mistakes you made while you _were_ on top hit so hard that getting better doesn’t seem so in reach anymore.”

Mickey didn’t interrupt but he was staring at Ian, expressionless. Ian shifted, clutching the air in his fingertips before dropping his hand, smiling.

“I ran off with Monica for a while. She was my mom, I forgave her, I trusted her, I wanted to be with her, even if she hurt us. She was the only one who said ‘I love you’ to me, knowing I had the disease, the only one who looked at me like I was a treasure.”

Ian turned to Mickey, tucking his arms behind his head.

“In the end, Monica can’t hold onto anyone for very long and nobody can hold onto her either. I went home when I realized that.”

Mickey stayed quiet and his eyelids fell a little but he didn’t break eye contact. He was taking the story in. Pretty soon a sigh escaped his lips.

“You sure know how to keep going after people that might disappoint you, huh?”

Ian laughed and then moved closer to Mickey, “If I have a flaw, I guess that would be it.”

Mickey smirked.

“Arrogant fucker, always seeing the goddamn rainbow in the middle of the rain, there’s your flaws.”

In a surge of desire, Ian lowered his head and pressed his lips against Mickey’s cheek and tasted the salty water that was still drying on his skin from their swim. He pulled back an inch and found that Mickey’s eyes were closed now, anticipating, and that got Ian’s blood flowing faster, his own eyes falling.  

He brushed his lips against the apple of Mickey’s other cheek, slowly grazing along his smooth jaw, fingers going to the hem of his shirt. Unable to fight the urge off, Ian then kissed Mickey fully, gripping him like letting go would mean the end of tonight, and Mickey responded by bringing his hand to Ian’s face, pulling him down.

Ian complied quickly by tossing his leg on Mickey’s other side so he was sitting on top of him, digging his knees into the beach, shifting his weight so it wasn’t too much or too little. Mickey’s breath hitched at the movement and Ian took that chance to dip his tongue into the hollow of Mickey’s mouth, savoring him, tasting the sweet flavor that contrasted the salty seawater on the rest of him. Ian shuddered when Mickey groaned lowly beneath him and raked his fingers through his hair, slicking it back.

Just for a second, Ian let his eyes flutter open to see the glimmer of Mickey’s face under the moonlight and it was beautiful, an image that would forever burn in his memories. He raised his hand out of the cold sand and ran it up the other’s bicep, over his shoulder, and down his chest, so obsessed with how amazing touching Mickey like this was.

The pace of Ian’s heart skyrocketed, each pump meant for Mickey as they pressed more into each other, breath mingling, limbs tangling. The powder under them was mixing in Mickey’s hair and some of it fell off in dust when he pushed himself up so he could grip Ian around the waist and kiss him deeper.

“Hotel,” Ian breathed hotly into Mickey, gripping clumps of damp hair, kissing messily.  

“Mmm,” Mickey hummed in agreement but made no move to pull apart. He brushed his tongue across Ian’s again, enthralled by the sound of Ian gasping, lowering his hands to his hips.

“Privacy,” Ian attempted to point out, reminding that they were still in public, able to be interrupted. Fuck if he was to be interrupted from this ever again. They had to get out of here fast and continue this somewhere safe, somewhere with a little more preparation.

Ignoring him, Mickey lifted Ian’s shirt a little and rubbed a hand over his abs, around his side and to his back, going up under the thin material until he touched his shoulder blades. Ian felt the wave of pleasure go down his spine to his legs and almost forgot where they were.

It wasn’t hard to come back to reality when a group of loud, drunk, teenagers were laughing in the distance, racing down the beach in their direction.

Hearing them, Ian silently prepared for Mickey to shove him off but that didn’t happen. Mickey broke from the kiss and watched the kids run by, not removing his hands from Ian’s hips.

As the roaring teens neared, Ian also waited for the inevitable gay slander, it was only fitting. Somehow that never came either.

One of the shirtless guys had the audacity to actually wave before speeding off to the ocean with his friends while another boy gave an apologetic smile at catching them in their moment of romance. A few of the girls giggled, falling over each other, blowing kisses at the two before shooting off for the waves too. When the teens were all out of earshot and swimming in the dark ocean, Ian and Mickey met eyes.

“Huh, look at that, rainbow instead of rain,” Ian confirmed, kissing Mickey again, softer.

He jolted as Mickey started to get vamped up, as if something took hold of him and replaced his self-conscious, _doesn’t-do-public-affection_ side, and Ian had to ease back before they went too far.

“There’s a group of people over there,” he smiled sheepishly, “We gotta get to the hotel and clean all this sand off.”

For a few agonizing seconds, Ian reevaluated that decision in his head because Mickey’s eyes said he didn’t give a fuck about whatever else was happening right now except what they were doing, and that had Ian’s entire body searing. Goddamn, he should have kept his mouth shut and let Mickey do whatever that gaze intended.

It was too late, Mickey peeled away, brushing the wet sand from his clothes, stood up and pocketed his hands, the lust all over his face vanishing. While Ian collected himself, Mickey pulled his phone from his bag and dialed Mandy.

Expectantly, Mickey held the phone out from his ear and in about three seconds, Mandy’s voice boomed from the receiver.

“Where the fuck did you take Ian!?”

“Take? I didn’t kidnap the kid,” he grumbled, eyes sweeping over Ian as he patted the sand off of his pants.

“We’re at the hospital, Mickey,” Mandy sneered, loud enough for Ian to hear. Ian’s mouth dropped and he reached for the phone, guilt and worry setting in, but Mickey moved backwards.

“Fuck,” Mickey breathed out, color draining from his face. He eyeballed Ian and said, “I’m taking him to a hotel, not to that shit.”

“Get the fuck over here, Mickey, don’t be so fucking cold!”

They were shouting at each other and Ian could barely catch what they were getting heated over but Mickey seemed reluctant to go to the hospital.

“Is she okay?” Ian asked, itching to talk to Mandy, upset that he was being kept in the dark for this long.

“Hurry the hell up and come over here, Mick,” Mandy murmured, tone dialing down. Mickey grunted and hung up. Ian's anxiety only grew when Mickey picked his bag up and turned to leave the beach.

“What’s happening? Is Mandy okay? Mickey?”

Ian was spewing out a lot of questions, trying to figure out why anyone was at the hospital but Mickey stayed silent the entire transit ride, up to the hospital gate. He ushered Ian inside and went to the front desk, said a few uncharacteristically polite words, and went to the elevator, Ian following suit.

“Mickey?” Ian tried again, his attempts less and less probing.

The elevator reached the third floor and Mickey walked out, immediately sitting himself on a chair in the hallway, crossing his arms. Ian waited for some kind of explanation but Mickey just threw his head to the side, indicating the room was somewhere down the hall.

“I don’t. . . “

“Look,” Mickey sighed, “Just go comfort Mandy, okay? You have a gift for that shit.”

There was a tense moment where Ian wanted to ask more questions or shake Mickey, one of the two, but he turned down the hall and found the room, expecting the worst.

Mandy was sitting down in the room, looking three times more tired than he did, but she rose out of the chair and hugged him as soon as he entered.

“I hate you for running off,” she broke out against his shirt and he rubbed her back.

“I’m sorry, Mandy, that was a really shitty thing of us to do.”

“Yeah, it was,” she snapped, pulling back, eyes swollen, “Fuck, Ian, it’s been a long day.”

Ian’s gaze settled on the form in the bed, where he expected Mandy to have been, and found a woman with a striking resemblance. Her eyes were shut but it wasn’t hard to guess what they must have looked like after noticing her coconut milk skin and the raven feathered hair clinging to her face.

“Your mom?” he asked delicately, shocked. Mandy bobbed her head up and down in a slow motion, her hands dropping from his body.

“Iggy went to get a few snacks. Where the fuck is my other fucking brother?”

“He’s waiting in the hall.”

“Goddammit, he’s not doing this shit again.”

She swept out of the room, leaving him alone with the sleeping woman in the bed. Ian felt nothing less of awkward, going up to her bed, curiosity getting the best of him. There were IV’s in her arms but she looked so peaceful that it was hard to believe this was a hospital and not her bedroom.

“Hey, Mandy, I got-”

Iggy came back, pausing when he saw Ian. He dropped the food onto a little table in the corner and sat down, joining his hands between his knees.

“She’s pretty,” Ian commented, hands clutching at his sides, “What happened to her?”

Iggy was discontented by the question and scratched along the side of his face, checking the empty doorway before answering.

“Sometimes, she gets a little overwhelmed when Mandy and Mickey show up, that's all. She remembers living in Chicago, how it was back then. She can’t deal so she doesn’t, catch what I’m getting at?”

Ian shook his head. She can’t deal? He didn’t get it at all. Iggy rubbed his hands over his knees and pursed his lips.

“It doesn’t happen every time but if it gets bad, she finds ways to forget all that shit. Don’t worry, she’ll come to so just keep cool.”

“I still don’t under-”

“Fuck you!” Mandy shouted from the hallway. Iggy shot up and peeked out the door to see what the hell was happening.

“You’re such a pussy bitch, you can’t even see your own fucking mom!”

Ian couldn’t move from his spot by the woman as he could hear nurses hushing Mandy outside. Soon she was coming into the room, boiling.

“It wouldn’t hurt him to show a little fucking sympathy for once in his goddamn life,” she spat, shuffling to the other side of her mother’s bed.

“People deal with this shit differently, Mandy,” Iggy coaxed, going to the door, “Even if it seems like a piss poor excuse.”

“It’s his mom, he shouldn’t need an excuse.”

Iggy left without response so Mandy went to Ian’s side and looked down at her mom.

“I don’t know what she OD’d on this time,” she said stiffly, touching her mom’s lifeless hand.

That threw Ian for a loop and he stepped back.

“Like overdosed?”

“She takes a lot of medicine, accidentally takes more than she needs sometimes, forgets her dosage,” Mandy played off. It sounded more like she was convincing herself than Ian. Iggy’s words rang out and made more sense but Ian wished that they didn’t.

"You okay?" he asked, rubbing Mandy's arm.

"Of course," Mandy sighed, "I might look a mess but I'm hard as fucking nails. You have to be to survive this shit, you know?"

"Sorry, Mandy."

"Don't sweat it, it was just a few extra pain killers, nothing vital," she laughed, referring to her mom. That was the thing, the thing that killed Ian, they never referred to themselves.

Emotions getting the best of him, he excused himself from the room and found Mickey still sitting down in the hall, his head back against the whitewashed wall.

What could he say? I’m sorry that your mother harms herself when she sees you guys? It must be tough and I can see why you don’t visit more often?

At least Ian had Fiona and Lip, some semi-adults who took care of him, in their own ways. They did the best they could over the years, under the circumstance of their shit hole house without guardians. At least he had some fucking form of guidance growing up, some protection, some kind of nurture. What the fuck did Mickey and Mandy have?

Ian stood in front of Mickey, heart falling apart, looking down at him.

Mickey’s eyes slid open and he looked up into the blinding white light of the hospital corridor, focusing on Ian’s bleary eyes.

“Iggy really needs to shut up,” he commented, putting the pieces together. Ian didn’t say anything this time, he physically couldn’t form a syllable.

“Hey,” Iggy called out, coming down the hall, “You guys can head to the hotel, your tracking fucking dirt all over the hospital. I’ll stay.”

Mickey didn’t have to be told twice, he shot up right towards the elevator, hastily pushing the button for the doors to spring open. Ian rushed after him and waited, keeping a watch over Mickey as they got on.

“Mickey?” he asked tentatively, like Mickey was a piece of glass that might shatter if he was too loud.

“What?” Mickey answered, not looking fragile in the least. Ian didn’t know where to go from there so they left the hospital without another word. He shouldn’t pester him, shouldn’t drag out his story, should let Mickey decide what he wanted to say.

Mickey either got the address before they left or the hotel they headed to was a Milkovich go-to when they visited Florida. It was a few stops on the transit and they went straight there. If it weren’t for the heavy atmosphere, Ian would have laughed at the faces of the patrons inside who were probably shocked at how messy the two of them were in such a pristine resort.

Ian and Mickey rode the elevator to the top floor and at the end of the hallway, Mickey swiped the card key to the room, going in first. Ian shut the door and blinked, not surprised but still in awe at how gorgeous the hotel room was. The view was perfect, overlooking what seemed to be the entire ocean coast, draped in the city lights.

Mickey disappeared and Ian could hear the sound of running water so he stayed in this lavish living room, checking out the room service menu on the table. It was already well over midnight but he wanted to clean up before laying all over the expensive furniture, even if that cream colored sofa was beckoning. He went to the glass window covering almost the entire wall and looked out, dazzled.

Mickey came back in after a few minutes, all cleaned up, and flopped down on the couch.

“I didn’t mean to jump ahead,” he apologized, “Just had to wash that fucking sand out of my hair.”

“Don’t sweat it,” Ian replied, tempted to just curl up on the sofa with Mickey because he could see the shower steam still rolling off his skin. Even though Mickey’s temperament remained calm, Ian could practically feel the shift in Mickey’s breathing, see the change in the way he lifted his eyes, and he knew that getting sand out of his hair wasn’t the only reason he flew at the chance to get a few minutes of alone time. Ian wouldn’t bring it up though, he would let Mickey come to him this time if he needed to, because it was like Iggy said, people dealt with shit differently.

The shower was a dream and Ian didn’t get out for at least twenty minutes, not used to decent water pressure. The soap smelled amazing and whatever costly shampoo this hotel had was doing wonders to his scalp. After massaging the stress built up at the hospital out of his system, he tossed on shorts and a loose shirt, finding Mickey still on the sofa.

Mickey had dozed off, head buried in the crook of his arm, facing the inner couch. Ian crouched on the floor by the sofa and watched for a moment, just to make sure he was okay. He could smell the aroma of Irish Spring soap, not the hotel soap, some Mickey must have brought in a bag. It was so Mickey to bring his own stuff, to not even trust the hotel staff to take care of him.

Ian felt sad thinking that and stood up. Maybe Mickey didn’t need him, didn’t want him to do it, but Ian would take care of him anyways.

Who else would?

 

In the morning, Ian woke up in the luxurious bed of the grand bedroom he crept into last night. It was the only vacant room, so he assumed Iggy and Mandy left it for him. After dressing, he went into the living room to find Mandy and Mickey both sitting on the couch, eating breakfast.

“Bout time,” Mickey scoffed at him, shoving a plate of food his way.

Ian took the empty spot next to Mandy and beheld the breakfast on the table. He instantly worked on the delicious looking stuffed french toast, fluffy eggs, crispy bacon, and piping hot croissants, never more thankful for a meal in his life. 

“Eat up, we’re going to see mom at the house. She got discharged,” Mandy sang, piling up her dishes and setting them aside for house cleaning to snag later. Ian side eyed Mickey who was at complete ease, nibbling his breakfast, raising his eyebrows.

When they were done eating, they left the hotel and Iggy showed up in a sleek muscle car in the parking lot.

“I’ll take my chances walking,” Mickey mumbled, rounding the car to the sidewalk.

“Come the fuck on, Mickey,” Mandy leered, catching up to him, throwing her arm out. “Don’t be such a prick. Just get in the car and zip your lip. You know that mom wants to see you.”

“Yeah? Does she? She wants to fucking see me, huh?” Mickey laughed, no happiness backing it, “Maybe if the bitch didn’t try to kill herself, I would believe that.”

There was a loud smack and a red imprint where Mandy’s hand flew across his face. It happened so fast that nobody moved for a few breaths.

“You only care about yourself,” Mandy sniffed, going back to Iggy’s car, slipping in the backseat, hiding her face. Ian watched in horror as Mickey finally raised his head and turned away, going across the street on his own. Ian wanted to go after him but there was an invisible anchor holding him back and the sound of Mandy and Iggy pressuring him to get in the car.

So, Ian rode shotgun and they drove off, leaving Mickey behind.

 

The house they drove up to was like something on a celebrity crib show, exactly the type of place you would expect someone with bucket loads of Benjamins to live in. It was located right up by the shore, overlooking the shimmery ocean, and when Ian got up close, he found that most of the house was made of glass, flooding in plenty of sunlight over the interior.

There were colorful pops of flowers painting the stone pathway up to the front door and a lady with dark hair over her shoulders, in a sun hat, was watering them.

“That’s my future wife,” Iggy whispered to Ian when they drew closer, and before he could ask if that was a joke, the woman came up and smacked Iggy across the side of his head, shouting in another language.

“I had to go pick these kids up, baby! You know you wouldn't have trusted me to go pick mom up anyways,” Iggy whined, indicating to Mandy and Ian with his pointer finger.

She didn’t seem to buy it and spewed a few more harsh words out before returning to the gardening. Mandy smiled at her before heading in the house with a defeated Iggy. The woman’s eyes were sharp on Ian as he went by hastily and she mumbled more foreign words under her breath. It hit him what the language was and he spun around.

“Privet,” he said happily, remembering the little bit of Russian a classmate taught him in high school. She stood up straighter and grinned.

“Privet, carrot boy.”

Bashfully, Ian nodded, not minding this nickname too much because she said it fondly, and went into the house.

The Milkovich mother was a thing of beauty, even more so now that she was greeting her children in a lavender dress, full of life. Her eyes just as blue as Ian expected, like a clear pool, matching her kids.

Mandy and Iggy were brightly talking to her, like the entire hospital fiasco was just some nightmare swept under the rug. Ian tried to remain unnoticeable, thinking this wasn’t his place to interrupt their family moment, but Mandy ushered her mother forward.

“This is him,” Mandy smiled, nodding to Ian. Her mother walked forward and held a caring expression, like a doting mother, like the opposite of what Ian expected. She put a white hand out to him and her lips turned up easily.

“I’m Katrya, Mandy’s told me about you.”

Her voice was like a bell, pleasant. He shook her offered hand and smiled back.

“Ian.”

“Make yourself at home, Ian,” she replied, completely sincere. She turned around, looking like a purple tulip twirling in the wind, and went across the slick wooden floor to the other side of the room.

“If you kids want to swim, the pool is clean.”

When she was gone, Mandy grabbed Ian and dragged him across the massive house, through a few hallways, and into a wide bedroom. The entire house was spotless, not a thing seemed out of place, and Ian was almost afraid of sneezing or doing anything to tip that balance.

“Here’s some of Iggy’s swim trunks,” she cheered, pulling a pair of electric blue trunks form the cherry wood drawer of the dresser on the wall. She then took Ian to another room, a room dolled up in pretty things, like a place for a princess.

“My bikini,” she oogled, retrieving it from the white regal vanity by the lace curtain window. Ian wondered if this was her room in the house, a room that she maybe stayed in as a kid, that's what Mickey had said. They were here when they were younger.

She changed out, completely comfortable with Ian’s presence, but he turned around anyways for her privacy.

“You don’t wanna go swimming?” she piped up from her side.

“I do but I’m just. . . “

He didn’t really know how to put into words why but all this was weird. Just hours ago, her mom was laying in a hospital bed and now they were going to hop in her pool like that never happened. It should have been expected, considering how hush hush Mickey and Mandy were about every problem that popped up in their life.

“You went for a dip in the ocean last night, right? With Mickey? Am I not sexy enough to look at?” Mandy teased but he could sense she was bruised by it.

“I’m sorry, Mandy, that’s not it,” he exclaimed to the wall. “I guess I’m not good at pretending that things are okay. That stuff with your mom was scary, you know? This doesn’t feel right for me.”

Mandy was quiet and he heard the pop of her bathing suit bottom slap on. She crossed the room and leaned against the wall by him.

“Ian, we’ll deal with our family drama. Let this one go, please?”

He nodded in spite of not letting it go. Maybe he needed to learn to do just that.

“You sticking around for a show or what?” he teased, unzipping his pants, waggling his brows. She licked her lips daringly and then laughed.

“Can’t have Mickey on my ass about this when he’s already going to rip me a new one for going pimp on him back there.”

Ian didn’t know what to say to that, he didn’t want to take a side. She gave him a reassuring squeeze before heading out.

 

Ian and Mandy played in the pool for a few hours before they were both ready to go inside. The sun was starting to dissipate behind the clouds and the sky was warming into a blend of rose and gold. Katrya was unbelievably kind to Ian, very polite and welcoming throughout his stay, and the dinner they ate could fill him for days.

When Katrya excused herself to the deck outside, sliding through the door in the kitchen, Mandy got up too.

“Skype sex with Ben,” she explained to Ian, stepping out. Iggy choked on his food.

“Could you at least pretend to spare your brother’s feelings?!”

“Since when have we done that?” Mandy called out from the next room. Iggy looked at Ian and rubbed his chin.

“Don’t worry about Mickey, he’s not starving anywhere.”

Ian was taken back by Iggy’s interest, the fact that he could sense his mood better than Mandy.

“That guy is made of some strong shit,” Iggy comforted, “He’ll be golden in a few hours. He’s probably at a bar, just living it up while he’s here.”

And maybe it was true that people did deal with shit differently like Iggy had said but damn that sucked, none of these siblings were talking about any of this. Maybe it was like how the Gallaghers learned to deal with Frank and Monica. The Milkovich siblings were at the point where they didn’t need to say anything anymore because things repeated and it became tiring. Like Monica, maybe their mom wore them out so emotionally that they had to detach themselves from the pain. 

“I need to head out, man,” Iggy disclosed, dumping his glasses into the sink. “I’ll pick you guys up later tonight if you want. Are you sleeping here or what?”

“I don’t know.”

“Just ring me,” Iggy told him, going out of the kitchen.

Now alone, Ian felt like he was intruding since nobody else was in here with him. As he was about to stand up, someone came in from behind and went to the other side of the table.

“Carrot boy,” the gardener smiled in greeting, picking up the dishes on the table, working on cleaning them at the sink. Ian felt at ease by her presence for some reason, in a way he never felt around people older than him. He didn’t get up from his chair, he just watched her clean.

“What’s your name?” Ian asked, hoping that he wasn’t being intrusive. She looked delighted by the question and turned her face while scrubbing.

“You want to know lady who does dishes' name?" she grinned, pouring soap over the plates, "Call me Svetlana if you like, maybe some other name if creative. You are friend of Mandy, no?”

Ian hummed in agreement and shot up, “You need help? I can clean.”

“It is job,” she laughed. When she worked on drying them, the dishes were as clean as if they were brand new. Her face softened, “But you are kind. You know Russian?”

“Not really,” Ian admitted lamely, coming up to hand her the rest of his dishes, “Just a couple of words.”

“It is okay,” she replied, taking the empty plates, “Milkovich children are Ukrainian but they do not speak either. Maybe small one with temper knows little.”

“Mickey?” Ian asked, leaning back on the counter top.

“He picks up words to throw at me, afraid I bitch behind back,” she laughed, rinsing the soap suds from her fingers.

“Sounds like Mickey.”

Ian was captivated by Svetlana, from the slope of her nose to her cherry lips to the way she carried herself, with pride and spunk. She was like a new strain of woman, one he's never laid eyes on.

There was some rattling from outside and the sliding door opened, revealing just the person they were talking about. Ian could see Katrya standing on the deck behind Mickey, a wine glass in hand, eyes watery, but Mickey shut the door on her and faced Ian.

Svetlana greeted him in her natural tongue and he switched his jaw before spouting a few things off in Russian back, making her laugh. Ian had no idea if Mickey spoke well or not, if what he said even made sense, but it had Svetlana amused.

“I came to pick you up,” Mickey greeted Ian, grabbing a bottle of liquor from a cabinet by Svetlana’s head.

“Mother won’t like,” Svetlana pointed out and he scoffed.

“Why are you acting like you don’t fucking know me by now, whore-lana? This is my _I don't give a rat's ass_ face, you see it?”

“If you-” she glanced around, searching for the vocab, “get shitfaced, no? You lay down, you vomit and I must clean. Drink is bad for small boys with temper, you put back.”

“I’m fucking fine, keep minding your business. Let’s get out of here before this place blows up, Ian.”

“Carrot boy might want to stay,” Svetlana scolded. Ian rubbed his arms and looked at Mickey nervously. He could see the blood vessels in the corner of his eyes, the redness there.  

“Let’s just sleep here, Mickey. Your mom offered.”

“Are you falling for this bullshit mother Teresa act?” Mickey growled, popping the cork off the dark green bottle in his hand, “Let’s go.”

“Come on, Mick, don't say it like that.”

“I can’t believe you’re being a bitch about this,” Mickey snarled and left the kitchen, leaving the bottle despite his words to Svetlana. Ian felt like a hole was carved out of his chest and sank against the counter.

“Do not worry, he is one hundred thirty pounds of Ukrainian pussy,” Svetlana smiled, “He bites but he is no shark, has no teeth.”

“Thanks, Svetlana,” Ian murmured, oddly comforted by her analogy. He went back to the front room of the house and Mickey wasn’t there. Before he could continue the search, Katrya came in from behind and brushed her hand over Ian’s arm as she passed.

“You seem like such a nice boy,” she smiled gently, walking to sit on the pearly couch in the center of the room. She was clearly more than a few wine glasses in and giggled, crossing her long legs on the sofa. Ian rubbed the back of his neck, uncomfortable.

“Thanks for having me here,” he said, “You have a lovely home.”

When she just smiled back at him, one of those tipsy, overly fond kind of smiles, he excused himself to the bathroom. After pissing, he went into the hallway and caught a glimpse of Mickey exiting back to the front room. He pursued and stopped dead at the entryway.

Mickey crossed the wooden floor and Ian wondered if he was going to leave again. He glanced to his right to see his mom laying down now, the warmth and giggles gone from her face. She was muttering happily in her state and to Ian’s surprise, Mickey went up to the couch, lifted his hands, and draped a fleece blanket over her, making sure she was covered.

“Mickey,” his mom grinned, moving around under the blanket, “You came to see me.”

“I just saw you outside,” Mickey glowered, tone sharp.

“Don’t leave mommy again, Mickey, okay? Will you stay this time?” her words were tired, alcohol induced, but she seemed keen on getting it through to him.

“This is your home, Mickey. You’re my little boy, you know that, don’t you? You know that I’ve always loved you so much. I hate every second you’re away.”

Mickey blinked, impacted by what she was implying.

“Don’t go back to Chicago, to that evil man,” Katrya murmured, bitter sweet, “I can care for you, Mickey. I want a chance to make it up to you, you and Mandy both. I can do better if you’re here and I will, okay?”

Mickey froze up for a while but he broke himself free of her promising gaze and left the house. Ian ran after him, as noiseless as he could, and caught up to Mickey outside, on the garden stone pathway.

“Hey,” Ian exasperated, grabbing the backpack over Mickey's shoulders, “Where are you going?”

Mickey said nothing and Ian’s insides were flopping. His mom just asked him not to go home to Chicago, begged him not to. Not even Mickey could be stone faced to his mother pleading for him to stay with her.

“Gonna have a smoke,” Mickey declared roughly, going off.

“Wait, Mickey, did you hear what she said? She’s asking you to live here.”

Here, where he could be with his real mom and bond with her, maybe get the chance at having a normal family.

Mickey turned in a flash and grabbed Ian by his shirt and pulled him along the side of the house.

An even bigger garden was blooming here and Ian wondered how Svetlana managed it. There were tea lights strung across the bushes and vines, trimmed flowers of all colors and sorts covering the edges of the greenery, and enticing scents wafting over the grounds. It was almost heaven sent.

Mickey jerked Ian to a closed off section of the garden, where they were alone and looked up at him through the warm glow of the lights.

“You think after years of neglect, I’m jumping for joy at a chance to live here? Tell me you’re fucking with me.”

“I don’t know,” Ian diminished, “If Monica or Frank turned into a decent parent, I don’t know how I would act. I think being deprived of them for so long, maybe I would forgive them and start over.”

“Blood doesn’t matter,” Mickey dismissed, “All that matters is who was there and who wasn’t.”

“She might change,” Ian said quietly and he didn’t know why he felt the need to protect this woman. Seeing her in the hospital bed really fucked with him and brought out his pity for her.

"You know how many promises get broken?" Mickey shot out, angry. 

It was true, Monica promised to get her life together countless times but she never came around to it. Maybe Katrya was no different. Mickey seethed, fist clutching Ian's shirt harder.

“Say I did want to stay-" he snarled, "You can get back on that plane a few days from now and wish me a happy fucking life? It's that easy for you?”

That dropped down like a ton of bricks. Too caught up in the possibility of Mickey having a loving adult in his life, Ian forgot about the consequences of losing Mickey.

“I don’t give a fuck about all this,” Mickey gestured to the garden, “If I stay here, she won’t be ‘taking care of me’, it’s going to be the other way around. I’m fine with my fucking couch and closet at home with Rick and my ten fucking jobs. I don’t care if that’s all I’ll ever have because fuck if I’m going to let that lady guilt me into watching over her, the way she does with everyone else.”

Ian watched as Mickey let go of him and stepped back, breathing in shakily, speaking fast.

“I can’t fucking stay here and keep her from drowning in all those pills when I already have to worry about Mandy blacking out in some alley and Parker getting his ass beaten, Rick having enough money to get Lucas through school because he’s having financial issues. Fuck if I can-”

Ian kissed him, fingers flying to Mickey’s face, cupping his cheeks firmly, pressing close. He felt Mickey stiffen against the contact so he pulled back and caressed his face, resting his forehead to Mickey’s.

“You’re right, you need to worry about yourself, Mickey. I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking, I thought it would be best for you but I-”

Mickey sprung forward and crashed their lips together, backing Ian up into the bushes, working on the buttons of his shirt. Ian shivered and trailed his hands down to the black fabric of Mickey’s pants, watching him through lidded eyes.

“Fuck you,” Mickey breathed into him, “You still don’t know that it’s you, huh? Still don’t know you’re what’s best for me."

Ian’s heart soared out of his throat and he tied his arms around Mickey’s waist, drawing him in. Mickey was kissing him fiercely, cursing while fumbling around with Ian’s clothing and Ian did his best to keep up with his heated drive. 

Before any clothes could come off, Ian dragged Mickey out of the garden, ignoring the confusion and disappointment plastered on his face. They slipped inside, through the darkness of the house, until Mickey got the hint and lead the way instead, pushing Ian into what he could only assume to be Mickey’s guest bedroom.

After shutting the door, Mickey resumed kissing Ian, like they never stopped, and guided him across the navy carpet, straight to the cloud like mattress of the bed in the room. He fell backwards, letting Ian straddle him, and grabbed his face, kissing chaotically, without rhythm. Ian moaned and disconnected so he could gasp for air and remove Mickey’s shirt. Mickey returned the favor and more steadily than before, got Ian’s buttons apart, shedding the cloth carelessly to the floor.

The aroma of the garden was all over them, now dispersing through the moonlit bedroom. Mickey’s sheets were cool to the touch but Ian could only focus on the warmth spreading over himself and how hot Mickey’s skin burned under his fingers. He rocked against Mickey, the need for some kind of relief taking over and Mickey responded with a groan.

Mickey raked his nails over Ian's jeans and grew restless while Ian desperately touched his arms and chest, leaving butterfly kisses over his collarbone and neck. 

“Bag,” Mickey whispered unsteadily and Ian waited for the clockwork to turn in his foggy mind until it clicked and he understood. He found Mickey’s dropped bag near the door and after some rummaging, retrieved the bottle of lube.

Mickey finished undressing and so did Ian before they were crashing against each other again, panting hardly. They sank into the sheets and Ian only pulled away momentarily to lather himself and his fingers, setting the bottle aside on the nightstand. He tangled one hand in Mickey’s hair and ran the other over his thigh, moving lower and lower until he hit where he wanted and pushed a finger into Mickey slowly.

“Okay?” Ian verified hoarsely, easing in, careful.

“Don’t stop,” Mickey assured, voice faint as he arched up so Ian could ease in more fingers.

Ian couldn’t fathom how Mickey could look so breathtaking, his dark hair messy over the sheets, his expression alluring. He moved in with more pressure and relished in the beautiful sound that poured out from Mickey’s lips. Those same lips that drew smoke from cigarettes and spouted profanity, those wonderful lips that Ian leaned down to caress again with his own.

He finished the prepping and wondered how they both silently knew who would be where in this moment. Taking a look into Mickey’s smoldering gaze, he moved inside of him, pleasure rippling across every inch of his skin.

They rocked hesitantly and then picked the pace up, getting used to the feeling of each other. Mickey’s head lolled back and he choked out a gasp, eyes shutting. Ian lowered and pushed further, gripping Mickey’s hands on the pillow, feeling Mickey shudder from the pleasure. He leaned down to capture his lips again, clenching his fingers.

These hands, he never wanted to let go of. This voice, he never wanted to stop hearing it. He couldn't get enough of Mickey, down to the last drop of his soul, so infatuated by it all. 

It didn’t take long for them both to convulse and float, almost simultaneously and when it happened, Ian kissed Mickey one last time. They were calming down, still holding each other, movements more weak and finally Ian eased out of him and rolled off, breathless.

They didn’t move for a while or speak, both basking in the afterglow. Ian’s mind was racing but he was too tired to connect the dots from how this day began to how it ended.

Once Mickey had his body working again, he slipped beneath the sheets, taking forever to peel back all the layers, silently cursing whoever piled all the covers on here. He got under and exhaled, flushing when Ian slipped under with him.

They met eyes briefly before Mickey closed his, letting the flutter in his chest calm. He felt Ian brush fingers over his face and hair until they were both breathing more evenly.

“I'm taking you with me on the plane,” Ian professed softly, smile curving up on his face. Mickey opened his heavy eyes, emotions swooping over him.

“That’s only because you need me to make you forget about your fear of flying."

“A little,” Ian confessed, sharing into Mickey’s space even if the bed was miles long. “And because _you_ need me too.”

Mickey shifted into the pillow, uneasy. It was the first time he felt that was true. He didn’t need anyone, everyone needed him, that’s how it usually went. But Ian was right, maybe he did need him.

So far his life was like a caged bird's, waiting for the moment where someone took the time to lift the clasp and let him out. That was Ian, a breath of fresh air, a never ending ray of sunshine.

Ian was his freedom.

“Yeah,” Mickey agreed, closing the space again, leaving a soft kiss against his lips.

Then they were moving again, forgetting whatever was beyond these walls for a little while, wrapped in their own world beneath the sheets, in a place where they were only bound to each other. 


	42. I More Than Love You

In an attempt to relieve stress over upcoming exams, Ian went to work out at the gym. It was around evening when he was done and that’s when he saw Mickey, sitting on the edge of the History building’s balcony, newspaper covering his face, but that didn’t stop Ian from recognizing him. It was in Mickey’s physique, the way he dressed, the way he was able to sit so comfortably on the verge of falling fifteen feet from the air, the way he was just _Mickey_ , it made him easy to spot.

“Hey,” Ian called out from the ground, “The next time you try to tell me that you aren’t a cat, I can bring up this kind of shit.”

Mickey didn’t answer so Ian went inside the building and up the stairs, busting through the door that reached the balcony. Mickey hadn’t moved an inch or said a word, completely zoned in on the newspaper at hand.

“What’s up?” Ian tried, going to lean on the railing, brushing his hand up against Mickey’s thigh.

Mickey swooped off the railing and planted his feet next to Ian so fast, Ian had to step back to recover.

“I can't be hallucinating,” he stressed, voice strained, shoving the paper up to Ian’s face.

“Whoah, hold on,” Ian laughed, taking the paper to read. He searched the page, trying to find whatever would cause Mickey to fidget and pace like a lunatic, the way he was doing right now. After a few nerve-wrecking moments, Mickey was staring so wide eyed it was freaking Ian the fuck out, but he finally found what was causing this burst of excitement.

“Holy fucking shit,” Ian gaped. “This is- Oh my fucking- Mickey-”

“Read it, fucking _read_ it to me.”

“In response to former accusation,” Ian spluttered out, “There have been many victims coming forward to confirm the acts of extortion, blackmail, and bribery from this company, reporting that the occurrences are frequent and have happened over long periods of time. Recent claims are bringing new evidence to the case, backing up the allegation of racketeering-”

“The important part,” Mickey growled, his hands finding Ian’s wrists, like he needed to hold them. Ian’s eyes lowered once more and his voice echoed over the empty balcony.  

“Even with highly regarded lawyer, Raven Segal, there is so much testimony against Terry Milkovich that-”

“-We find it hard to believe he’ll be coming out of this case scotch free,” Mickey quoted, his breath wispy from the cold, his fingers digging into Ian’s wrists until there were red marks before releasing him, pupils blown. Ian read over the entire page again, just to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating either.

People were speaking out against Terry Milkovich, minor companies, exposing the dirty secrets of his company. Whatever Terry did or was doing, the shit was being dragged out from underneath his empire, tipping him down a thousand notches from his place at the top of the food chain.

Mickey felt like a volcano of energy just released inside of him and he didn’t know what to do with it, what he could do with it.

“On black and white print, bitch,” Mickey whispered out, still in disbelief that Terry was getting some form of justice. The man he thought was unstoppable was losing, his world was falling, and it could only keep crumbling lower and lower.

“Mickey-” Ian beamed, "This is so fucking awesome. That lowlife asshole finally got-"

He dropped the newspaper because Mickey flew forward, crushing him into a hug, laughing madly. It was so shocking that Ian didn’t know what to do at first, whether he should be laughing too or not. He listened to Mickey’s genuine laughter and felt a tightness in his throat when that laughter started to become broken. It turned raspy and soon enough, it wasn’t laughter anymore, it was a soft panting. Ian tightened his arms and kissed the top of Mickey’s head, telling him it was okay to let it out.

Mickey didn’t bother covering up the tears soaking into Ian’s shirt because the trembling in his shoulders and knees gave it away anyways, so what was the point? How could anyone subdue that kind of happiness? The kind of happiness that comes with finding out that the nightmare you lived with, that you thought was untouchable, can be taken away, and can’t creep out of the shadows to drag you back down into hell.

Terry would be going to jail, he would disappear, he would lose protection, something terrible would happen to him, wouldn’t it? This was a sign that karma really was a bitch, right? Delusional, wishful thinking, whatever it was, Mickey felt as if an anchor was cut from his leg and the constant fear in the back of his mind slipped, even if it was just for a second.

 

The silence of the library was distracting, it was just too quiet, and Ian could barely focus on studying for his exams. It wasn't the only distraction though. He couldn’t help but stare at Mickey, every ten seconds, for the last two hours they’ve been sitting in the library. He should have been more embarrassed, it was probably really creepy at this point, there might even be a little drool on his face, but Ian was way past the shame.

The only thing reminding him to study his notes instead of Mickey’s face was the constant eye rolling from Mandy, keeping him in check. She wasn’t a stranger to the euphoria of sex, which he's been having nightly with Mickey since the Miami trip, and that was both awkward and refreshing that she knew about it. At least he didn’t have to spell it out that he was getting into her brother’s pants at every given opportunity.

Mickey seemed oblivious to the staring, he was immersed in whatever novel he snagged from the shelf on the way in, lost, worlds apart from the rest of their study group. In fact, Ian was pretty sure the only reason he agreed to come along with them to the library on his day off was because he ran out of stuff to do around the apartment. He was smiling a lot, unable to hide all the exploding happiness he was feeling since the news about his dad. It was showing on Mandy too.

Her boyfriend was studying silently next to her and Ian could tell they were texting little love notes for the most part, so really, he shouldn’t feel _too_ bad about wanting to watch Mickey over studying, even if it was one sided.

Then there was Sean, who wouldn’t stop running his mouth about whatever nonsense he _wasn’t_ studying, which included his hushed cheering for the basketball game on his laptop. The only reason the cheers were quiet now was due to the serious bruise on his ankle, thanks to a nice kick from Mandy.

The worst part about this study group was Blake showing up, uninvited, sitting right next to Ian, making passes at him under Mickey’s radar, which at the moment must have been broken considering he was absorbed in the book in his hand. Ian didn’t care too much, he was distracted by the way Mickey was licking the whip cream of his hot chocolate from the corner of his mouth.

When Mickey got up to use the restroom, Blake was suddenly invading Ian’s space at the table. He didn't seem bothered by how Ian visibly tensed in discomfort.

“Need me to read out some of those flash cards for you? It’s easier to memorize words that way.”

His knee scraped up against Ian’s under the table. Ian flinched back, faking a polite smile.

“I’m okay.”

“It’s no problem, we’ll be quiet, the others won’t mind.”

It was so suggestive, Ian almost choked on the coffee he was drinking and that got a satisfied smirk from Blake. Oh great, he really needed this guy to get even cockier.

“Discomfit,” Blake read off, moving closer to Ian in his chair, holding the flash card he picked up from Ian’s work space. Ian shifted his eyes, wishing this guy would get a clue.

“To lose one’s composure,” he sighed, tapping his finger against his own arm.

“These are big words,” Blake smirked, going through the flashcards, “You like big things?”

Ian didn’t know what the hell he was supposed to say to that but he moved his chair carefully away from Blake, to the edge of the table. Blake didn’t seem to notice and read off another card.

“Amok,” he pronounced, eyes flicking up.

“Without self control, wild,” Ian answered slowly, finding the definition in his brain. Blake moved in his seat so that his legs were closer to Ian’s once more.

“I’m feeling pretty amok right now if you want to head out of here,” he offered in a low voice and that’s when someone jerked him up from the chair.

“Get that ugly fucking mug out of this library, you creepy shit,” Mandy leered at him, dragging him by the collar and letting him go full force away from the table. “Next time expect an ass beating.”

Sean’s mouth almost dropped to the floor and Ben was in the same state at her outburst, wondering what just happened. There were a few students close by, watching the scene as Blake creased his shirt back to its original state, his head turning between all of them. He didn’t seem to have anything to say so he left.

Mickey came back on cue and plopped back down in his seat, eyes finding Ian, questioning eyebrow flying up.

“You look like someone just threw you a fucking birthday party. The fuck could have happened in this joint while I was taking a leak?”

“I think Blake is the one who pissed himself,” Ian grinned, glancing at Mandy who was sitting next to Ben again. She smiled and went back to her work. Mickey stood up and moved around the table so he could drop down where Blake was formally occupying. He stayed glued to his book when he spoke.

“I was trying to be chivalrous for your sake,” he scoffed, “Was gonna beat his ass after we left, but there’s still hours in the day and this campus ain’t that big.”

“Mick,” Ian scolded, putting no effort into it, feeling strangely happy, “Don’t bother wasting your time. I can handle creeps at this point.”

“You shouldn’t have to,” Mickey answered firmly, looking up. After a beat he added, "Next time, if you don't do something about that shit, I will."

They stared at each other for a few seconds before Ian went quickly back to work, flushing. It was the way Mickey was looking at him, like he was staring into his soul. This entire day he's been stealing glances and when Mickey finally returns them, he can't even look back because of embarrassment? Ian grumbled against his hand and didn't look up again.

Another hour passed and Ian was chewing the end of his pencil, distressed over his essay, having trouble putting his research together. His eyes were starting to fall shut and his vision blurred. He tapped his foot to stay awake and shot up when his head drooped.

“Ay,” Mickey called out softly, lightly touching Ian’s shoe with his own, “You need a nap?”

“No, I need to finish,” Ian muttered, jotting notes down from his computer onto his notebook. He rubbed his eyes and sipped on his coffee. Mickey glared.

“That’s your fourth one, man, it’s safe to say the caffeine isn’t doing shit to keep you up. Go home and sleep.”

“Can’t, gotta finish,” Ian shrugged, shaking his head.

When his eyes slipped shut again, he felt like the room was spinning in a whirl of colors and the only thing connecting him to Earth was the bitter taste of mocha and the scent of Mickey’s shampoo. He groaned and tried to find the ground, finally opening his eyes, barely breathing.

Mickey was holding his face and he was saying something but it was distorted, just like the blur of people behind him. Ian shook his head, wanting to communicate that he didn’t understand and suddenly his feet left the floor.

 

Ian sat up and coughed, wildly searching the room. He wasn’t in the library anymore, he was in the quiet of his dorm, in his bed. His eyes landed on Mickey slouching at his desk who went to Ian’s side in a flash.

“What-?” Ian tried to say, unable to process what he wanted to say.

“You passed out,” Mickey answered, “You need more sleep.”

“Might be the meds,” Ian cleared up, rubbing his cheek with the back of his hand.

“I brought you back here, Mandy said you hate the doctor.”

“Thanks,” Ian exhaled, laying back down.

“You need anything? Something to drink? Some food? You feeling any pain?”

“I’ve passed out before, it’s not a big deal, don’t worry,” Ian smiled, taking solace in his pillow again. “Sorry about that.”

“You seriously apologizing for this shit?” Mickey scoffed, sitting on the bed.

“I know how you are,” Ian explained seriously, “You worry more than anyone I’ve ever met."

Mickey's eyebrows shot up and he crossed his arms.

"Have you even met me, man?"

"For example," Ian said, "You pretended that seeing your mom in the hospital didn’t worry you, yet you tuck her in bed when she gets tipsy.”

“Okay?”

“And Mandy,” Ian dared, “You always worry about her. Not to mention your old best friend and your uncle. You’re constantly watching over people, especially when nobody else is around for them.”

“In case you forgot, I chose to leave the woman who birthed me back in Alligator town,” Mickey retorted, turning his head to the window, “ _Because_ I didn’t really care about dealing with her shit.”

“You're not a good liar,” Ian chuckled, sitting up, “Part of you wants to be with your mom, Mickey, and you’re really not the heartless asshole that you make yourself out to be.”

Mickey said nothing so Ian put a hand on his back, as gentle as he could.

“I think you avoid going to Florida because you’re scared that she’ll hurt herself when you go. Maybe one day you won't be able to leave and you’ll give in, stay there for her, you know?”

“Don’t you get tired of turning everything into a fucking soap opera special? You’re the one who passed out, let’s focus on that,” Mickey grimaced, veering his face around, causing them to be a few breaths apart.

“I’ll never get tired of listing off the things I like about you,” Ian whispered, ghosting his hands up Mickey’s back until they were at his neck. The golden sunlight fading into the room created rings of light over Ian’s irises as he felt the pulse under Mickey’s heated skin, both of their pupils dilating.

“Short list?” Mickey asked quietly, pulse quickening.

“What do you think?” Ian teased.

“Fuck you,” Mickey smiled faintly until Ian leaned forward, causing him to stiffen.

“Protective,” he listed, brushing his lips to Mickey’s jawline, fingers smoothing up to the back of his head, curling into his hair, “And generous.”

He didn’t think he ever saw Mickey heat so quickly.

“Surprisingly gentle,” Ian chuckled, kissing with the lightest touch over Mickey’s throat, infatuated by the way his breath was catching there.

“And you talk too much,” Mickey declared, pushing Ian down into the mattress, eyes shadowing over, "That's at the top of my list."

“So? I really like you,” Ian defended, smiling, arms going behind his head, “I can’t keep quiet around a cute guy.”

If only he had a camera to capture the blush on Mickey’s face, it was priceless. Ian closed his eyes and got comfortable on his pillow, caught up in Mickey’s pleasant scent.

“I’m saying this stuff because I don’t want you worrying about me, you know? You make other people’s problems your own. Let me take a nap and the drowsiness will go away, no more fainting, I’ll be all good to go.”

When the words left his mouth, Mickey swooped down and connected their lips again in a long, slow kiss to which Ian immediately responded, circling his arms around Mickey’s neck, bringing him against his chest. They kissed for countless minutes, wrapped in each other, and Ian wondered if he was going to pass out again with how breathless he was becoming.

The sun was trickling across Mickey’s eyelashes and skin as he hovered over Ian and unzipped his jacket, not protesting when Ian helped him get it off so he could hurry and work on removing his shirt next. He kissed along Mickey’s collar bone when the shirt was gone and pulled back long enough for Mickey to tug him out of his own hoodie.

“I more than like you,” Mickey spluttered, dragging his fingers over Ian’s bareback, kissing him again. Ian shivered and got on top of Mickey, ready to take his jeans off until Mickey rolled him over so that he was the one on top and his hands were over Ian’s.

“Ian,” Mickey exasperated, blinking anxiously, like he had to make sure what he had to say was in the air before it was too late.

Ian gazed up at him, throat drying, voiceless. He was feeling feverish, and maybe he did catch a fever and that’s why he fainted in the first place, but it was only burning hotter under that open look.

Mickey shifted uncomfortably but maintained eye contact and lowered his head an inch, looking at Ian through dark lashes. His lips were parted and swollen from kissing and his cheeks were colored a shade darker, his bright eyes uneasy. Ian wished his own voice would work to break the silence because these seconds were killing him.

Time ticked on until Mickey went from shy and helpless to brave and leaned down to kiss Ian carefully, cupping his face.

“I love you.”

It was just a murmur against Ian’s lips, just three words, that was all, but Ian inhaled Mickey’s whisper like each word was a precious jewel and he swallowed it, wanting to taste it, wanting to ingrain the message into himself to make sure this wasn’t a dream.

Nobody ever said that to him, not like that, never like that. 

Mickey wasn't letting up on kissing him now, probably to hide the embarrassment, but Ian turned him over and pushed him into the pillow as he intertwined his fingers into Mickey's own. Both of them were inhaling and exhaling against one another, seeking for something. 

Ian thought he might start crying because Mickey wasn't taking it back or leaving or hiding, he was just laying there, ready to take whatever Ian had to throw at him. He could see how hard he was struggling, the way it showed on Mickey's face how afraid he was of his own words because he never surrendered himself, never said that to another person before, probably not since he was little, before he was caught up in all the hell fire and hatred around him.

So Ian kissed Mickey again, promising the future with every mingled breath, holding his hands to remind him that he was treasured and that he wouldn't let go, and soon they were tangled and lost in each other, the way they always were. 

"I more than love you."


End file.
